


Tales of The Dragon and The Bookworm

by Cpetrienm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is poor, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Healer Hermione Granger, Oblivious Hermione, Pining Draco Malfoy, References to Depression, Relationship Problems, Romance, Undertaker Draco, Unplanned Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Werewolf-ish Draco, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 94,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cpetrienm/pseuds/Cpetrienm
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring a certain blond Slytherin and his Gryffindor girl.





	1. The View from a Muggle Flat

**Author's Note:**

> Draco likes to watch Hermione from his window.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

My crappy, little flat didn’t have much going for it other than the fact that it wasn’t a cell in Azkaban. While I’d dodged that particular Avada thanks to Saint Potter, my family had lost our fortune and home. Thank goodness my mother was smart enough to stow away a large rainy day fund or my parents would probably be enjoying the hospitality of their hard-working, but poorly paid, son. I was employable, thank Merlin, but my parents didn’t have a hope at finding work in the foreseeable future. 

I’d found that flats in the wizarding world were considerably more expensive than comparable flats in the Muggle world. No brainer there, so I packed up my belongings and found a place I could afford in London. Magic helped make my flat brighter, cleaner, and slightly bigger, but there were only so many spells I could use to improve my space. I couldn’t, for instance, move my cheap flat to a new location. 

Since I was new to the Muggle world, I spent my evenings watching my neighbors in the building across the way. It was fascinating to observe Muggles, but I found they did a lot of the same things as wizards. Unfortunately, the neighbor I could see most clearly was a fat old man who seemed to enjoy scratching his crotch and watching the telly. I begged Merlin to give me a hot, big chested lady to watch, but the closest I got to that was watching two guys doing some kind of aggressive dance routine a few windows over. 

Then one evening when I returned from work, I saw a couple moving boxes from fat old guy’s flat. The woman would stop every couple of minutes and wipe tears from her eyes. I assumed fat old guy had passed unto the Veil and said a quick blessing for his Muggle soul. It was good he had people to mourn him. 

The flat sat empty for a few days after it was cleared out, then one night I saw a new tenant. A young woman, from what I could tell, as she wasn’t very close to the window. A bloody enormous cat marched along the window ledge, as if protecting his owner from harm. I was pretty sure no one would break into the flat with that humongous animal guarding it.

I went about my business that night, making myself a tin of soup and a ham sandwich and listened to the Wizarding Wireless. The new neighbor moved around the space and I watched her, but I never got a good look at her face. It was hard to tell if she was pretty or not, but her body was on the thin side and she had long hair. There was something familiar in the way she carried herself, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. 

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Working as a lab assistant at Diagon Alley Apothecaries allowed me to work in a field I found interesting and paid better than, say, cleaning out cages at the Magical Menagerie. Nonetheless, it was still grunt work and I wanted more. It was surprising, but my good looks and charming personality were not in demand from the opposite sex without the Malfoy fortune to back them up. If I were ever going to be able to offer anything to a witch, I would have to improve my station in life. 

I’d splurged on a bottle of Firewhisky and a new set of Omnioculars to better see my new neighbor. She’d decorated her flat with gorgeous framed pictures of faraway locales and shelves and shelves of books. Sadly, the couch where she spent her time relaxing faced away from the window, so I never had a good opportunity to study her. 

My flat was already dark, so I could see my neighbors better, when I noticed her lights go on. Yes! Let the show begin. She went to the window to pick up her behemoth of a cat, but her long hair was covering her face. With the Omnioculars, I could actually see into her bedroom if she left the door open. I hoped she let me see something good. The dry spell I’d been having would definitely be eased by watching her touch herself.

But to my chagrin, she spent her evenings reading or watching the telly. Sometimes she would fall asleep on the couch, but she always changed for bed in her bathroom. 

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Blaise Zabini, the lucky prick, had a family who’d stayed neutral during the war, so he’d kept his inheritance. He was still unfairly judged for being a Slytherin, but his Galleons helped him keep in society’s good graces far more than yours truly. He was my one and only friend from Slytherin House and on occasion, he would make his way to my shitty flat, to share some man-to-man time, I supposed. Mostly, he complained about the girls he dated. For a Slytherin, he was too nice and often came on too strong for most witches’ liking. The Sorting Hat should have put him in Hufflepuff. 

“Is that the girl?” Blaise asked, watching my neighbor clean her flat. 

“Yeah, that’s her. I’ve never been able to get a good look at her face.”

Blaise might have been a pushover, but he was intelligent. “She’s a witch, Draco. Can you see the blurriness around her form? Those are wards, you idiot.”

No. Fucking. Way. Maybe I knew her. Now I was more determined than ever to find out. 

“Have you ever seen her shagging?” Blaise asked, breaking me out of my train of thought.

I snorted. “I wish.”

“Go over and introduce yourself.” 

“How in Salazar’s name did you ever make it through school? Goyle’s a better Slytherin that you are, for Merlin’s sake.”

Blaise laughed. “Maybe I’ll go over and introduce myself. You could watch me shag her.”

“No, thanks. If I ever see her getting it on, I’ll send you an owl.”

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The walk from the Apparition point to my flat was four very long city blocks, made longer by a cold drizzle of rain. I didn’t own an umbrella, since in the wizarding world we could use a shield charm to keep the rain off. As I hurried to my building, I saw none other than Hermione Granger go into the building across from mine. And then things clicked into place as I noticed her gait and posture. She was the neighbor I had been watching for the past few weeks!

When I got to my flat I looked at her window and I could see her clearly. I guessed that now that I knew her identity, her wards couldn’t hide her from my sight. They would still protect her from intrusion, but not from detection.

What a gift I’d had deposited into my lap! Watching some random bint doing things around her flat was alright, but getting to observe Granger in her home was fascinating. And for the first time since I moved to the Muggle world, I felt slightly more comfortable, knowing other magical people lived here, too. 

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Since I’d moved into my dearly departed Great-Uncle Hiram’s flat, I knew I was being watched. It took me some time to figure out who my observer was, but eventually I saw Draco Malfoy walk past the window of the corner market where I bought my groceries. The Wizengamot had stripped the Malfoys of their wealth and properties, so now Draco was a regular person like the rest of us. I found it made him more human to me, knowing he had lost the incredible cloak of privilege he had wrapped around him as a child. That he watched me daily helped me feel less isolated, although his motives weren’t clear. But I figured if he wanted to do something sinister, he’d had more than enough time and opportunity. He was a very attractive man and as time went on, I began to plan ways to keep his eyes on me.

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She began to walk around the flat in t-shirts and little shorts. Her legs went on forever and were toned and smooth. At night, she would spend several minutes applying lotion to her body as she sat on her bed. This nighttime ritual became the part of my day I looked forward to the most. 

My streak of good luck with one Miss Hermione Granger continued when she wandered into my workplace. 

“May I help you find something?” I asked when I noticed her perusing the store. 

She looked me up and down before cocking her head. “Hello there, Malfoy. Long time, no see,” she said, smirking at me.

“What have you been up to?” I stammered. Did she know I spent my evenings watching her?

“Oh, you know. Working at the Ministry in the Research Department during the day and at night…well, not much, I suppose,” she said coyly. 

I swallowed. Was it getting hot in here? 

She plucked a vial off a shelf. “This is just what I need. See you around.”

When I finally checked the shelf, I saw she had taken a contraceptive potion. I wasn’t sure how I was going to work for the rest of the day after this encounter. Merlin’s balls. 

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The next two evenings, her flat was dark and quiet. She was a war heroine after all and in demand on the social scene, even if she didn’t care for the lifestyle. I found myself hoping she would come home alone, but one evening she didn’t come home at all. I waited until three in the morning before making my way to bed. Granger wasn’t mine to worry about, but I’d come to know her, so to speak. 

I didn’t work on Sunday, so I slept late and when I woke I immediately went to my window. Hermione was in her flat, reading the paper and drinking from a mug. Breathing a sigh of relief that she was back, and alone, I made myself a cuppa and some toast. 

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“Ever figure out who your mystery witch is?” Blaise asked. He treated me to a few drinks at The Leaky Cauldron every so often, which I appreciated since frivolous spending wasn’t in my budget. 

“No,” I lied. If he knew it was Hermione, he’d probably interfere somehow. He was always ragging on me to get out there and meet someone. 

A cold wind rushed through the door as a new group came into the bar. It was the Golden Trio, along with Girl Weasel and Crazy-Ravenclaw-My-Parents-Locked-In-Our-Dungeons. It appeared Potter was still dating Girl Weasel and the Redheaded Git was with Crazy Ravenclaw. Weird. I was happy to note Granger wasn’t paired up with anyone. 

“What do you think of Granger?” Blaise asked, tracking my gaze. 

“She’s smart. Has a mean right hook.”

My friend rolled his eyes. “No kidding, genius. I mean, what do you think of her as a witch? Little Red is more my type, but I could see Granger’s appeal.”

He had no idea. I shrugged. “Yeah, she’s grown up well. I hate to even say it, but I think she’s out of my league.”

Good Gods, why did I say that to Blaise? The sparkle in his dark eyes was not good. Not good at all. But he didn’t say anything, just offered to get us another round and walked over to Tom, the barman, to order our drinks.

When he sat back down, I could see he had been up to something, but I hardly wanted to know. So I sipped my Butterbeer and listened to him natter on about some witch he had taken shopping for fancy knickers. 

I glanced back at Granger’s table and she raised her glass to me and mouthed thank you. I didn’t know what she was thanking me for, but I nodded and gave her a quick salute with my drink. 

Despite my faux-Slytherin friend’s meddling, the small attention I got from the Gryffindor Princess made my night.

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Those Slytherins all thought they were so sneaky, but I knew Zabini had ordered me a drink on Draco’s behalf. I appreciated the gesture, though, and wanted to reward my blond voyeur with a bit of a show. 

Moving my couch so it was now facing the window, I got comfortable and began to read my newest Diana Gabaldon novel. The book put me in the perfect mood to begin my slow strip tease. I began by standing and stretching, letting my breasts press against the front of my button-up shirt. I slowly unbuttoned the top three buttons, allowing my powder blue bra to showcase the round tops of my mounds. Once again, I made myself comfortable, but now as I read, I slowly stroked my hard nipples over the lace of my bra. I was turned on, in earnest, knowing Draco was watching me from his dark flat.

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Holy buggering fuck! Was she really fondling her tits before my very eyes? I made myself comfortable and unbuttoned my pants, which was awkward because I didn’t want to remove the Omnioculars from my eyes and miss something good.

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I imagined him touching himself as he watched me. Though I was daring with this wizard, it was mostly due to the fact that I couldn’t see him and we were separated by a building. While I wasn’t a virgin, having Ron suck a boob into his mouth and push himself into me a few times before coming wasn’t exactly what I’d call real sex. The kind of sex I wanted was erotic and wild, with a lot of teasing and aggressive foreplay before I was impaled and fucked for all I was worth. I wanted to pass out afterwards and wake up wrapped in a man’s arms, only to have sleepy, stolen sex in the morning. 

I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons and unclasped the front of my bra, freeing my heavy breasts to his view. My pink nipples were painfully erect and oh so sensitive. Just lightly fingering them had me gasping. My pussy was beginning to throb, and I lowered a hand to my clothed sex, lightly stroking my needy body. 

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I was enraptured by her movements. The two times I’d had sex before were nothing compared to the erotic sight of this witch caressing herself. My cock had never been harder and I rubbed it over my shorts in time to her hand traversing her cunt. She was still reading her book, but I noticed her stopping and closing her eyes periodically, her head thrown back for a moment.

It was becoming painful to feel the cotton of my shorts rasping against my engorged prick, so I pushed them down with the heel of my hand. That was more like it! The cool air was a delicious counterpoint to the heat of my body. I was slippery with pre-ejaculate, which made wanking all the better. Hermione was moving her hand with a slow and steady rhythm and I continued to copy her although my body was urging me to piston into my fisted hand and release the tension I had built up for my sexy neighbor. 

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The pulse of orgasm began a steady beat as I worked my fingers over my covered clitoris. Though I wanted to expose my wet pussy to better finger myself, that was more than I wanted my Peeping Tom to see. My book was thrown to the floor and I used that hand to pluck at my nipples while my other hand began a frantic back-and-forth over the bundle of nerves at my core. Legs stiffened and I came, calling Draco’s name while waves of pleasure washed over me. 

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When she finally began to move her hand quickly, I, too, began a fast tug on my aching dick and came, erupting gobs of semen over my hand and stomach. My breath was coming in pants as I let the feeling of pleasure and relief ride through my system. 

Hermione was lying motionless on her couch, one hand on her stomach and one covering her eyes. She was flushed and her hair was strewn all over. What a sight to behold! As I put down the Omnioculars and spelled myself clean, I finally admitted to myself my inappropriate and pervy crush on her. 

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After my totally out of character act of exhibitionism, I kept my shades closed for a few days. It wasn’t that I had done anything wrong. For Godric’s sake, I was allowed to masturbate in my own flat if I wanted to do so! But…I wanted more and while Draco Malfoy might enjoy looking at me through his window, it did not mean he wanted to engage in actual intimate activities with me. 

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I was out of sorts and in no mood to socialize, but I had brunch with my parents scheduled once a month at their cottage. My mother had taught herself to cook over the past few years and was quite adept at making simple, fresh fare. Father, for all his faults, loved my mother with all his heart and would beam with pride at her new accomplishments. I would have found it quite endearing, but my thoughts kept going back to the way I had been shut out of Granger’s life. I know it was silly, but part of me wondered if she knew I had been watching her all these weeks and was reciprocating my interest in her own way.

“Draco, I spoke to Milly Bulstrode’s mother last week in Hogsmeade. Did you know she’s single?”

“Really? A catch like Millicent?” I said sarcastically. I noticed my father trying not to laugh as he held a cloth napkin to his mouth.

“Well, I just hate the idea of you alone, in your little Muggle flat. Milly may not be your ideal witch, but you would grow to love her. Mrs. Bulstrode said she’d recently gotten a very becoming haircut,” Mother said encouragingly.

My father’s eyes were now watering with his efforts not to dissolve into raucous roars at my mother’s misguided attempts at matchmaking with the manly Millicent. 

“Narcissa, maybe Draco is already seeing someone?” Father interceded for me. 

Her lovely blue eyes sparkled. It made me feel like a loser to have my parents show such hope and expectation for my love life. I supposed if they thought Milly was an acceptable option, they may go for someone a bit out of their comfort zone. 

“Well, yes, actually I am. It’s still early, but I’ve been seeing Hermione Granger for a few weeks.”

The two of them froze and stared at me. I had no idea how they’d react, but anything was better than my mother trying to set me up with Crabbe’s female doppelganger. 

“It must be getting serious if you would mention her to us,” Narcissa said after a few awkward moments. 

“She’s politically connected,” Lucius offered. 

“She is,” I agreed. “It’s still very new, but I’ll let you know what happens.”

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And then, quite by accident, we met on the street one day. Hermione was struggling to carry her work satchel, several bags of groceries, and a stack of books. I jogged over to her and took the bulk of her things.

“Thank you,” she said breathily. “None of these things could be shrunk,” she whispered.

“Ah. Say no more.”

I followed her to her flat. Her building was much nicer than mine, with nicely tiled halls and fresh paint. She nodded courteously at her fellow flat-dwellers as we made our way through the building. 

“This is me,” she said, pointing to a white door. “Would you come in for tea?”

I had seen her flat from my own, but it was more spacious than I’d realized and decorated in a warm, but modern style. What I didn’t know was that it would smell wonderfully fresh, like clean linens. Or how she could see directly into my window. Right then and there I knew she knew what I had been doing.

While she put her things away I petted her monster cat, who seemed to like me on sight. His big head butted against my hand as he made himself at home on my lap. 

“He’s not hurting you, is he?” Hermione asked cautiously. 

“No, not at all. What’s his name?”

She sat next to me and stroked the cat’s thick fur. “This is Crookshanks. It’s very unusual for him to like someone I bring over.”

I recognized the cat as at least part-Kneazle, so he had been bred to protect his mistress. This cat would let her know if I meant her harm. Obviously, Hermione knew this and would process the information in my favor, I hoped.

“They’re very loyal pets. I bet you feel safe with him in the flat.”

She smiled at the flat-faced creature. “I do.”

Gods, I felt like such a creeper, but as she petted the cat on my lap I felt myself getting turned on. The cat must have noticed something askew, because he jumped off my lap and made his way to a small pet bed in the corner of the room.

We drank our tea in silence for a minute before she put down her mug and turned her knowing gaze on me. 

“Lately I find myself engaging in a new hobby, so to speak.”

“What hobby is that?” I said as calmly as I could, rubbing my sweaty palms against my slacks.

“Since I’ve moved here and I have the pleasure of knowing my neighbors can see me, I find myself becoming a bit of an exhibitionist. I do hope you won’t judge me,” she said softly. 

“No,” I said, my throat dry. “I don’t judge you. My hobby is similar.”

“What is that?”

“I like to watch my neighbors. Well, one in particular.”

“Oh? What’s so interesting about this particular neighbor?”

Hermione was giving me an opportunity to tell her how I felt. It was surreal, knowing the witch I’d been watching for several months was offering me a chance at something tangible. 

“She’s someone I knew in school, but never had the chance to get to know her well. We ran in different circles, you see.”

“I understand.”

“I didn’t realize it was her at first, but by the time I knew who I was watching, I already felt as if I knew her quite well. She’s intelligent, hard-working, and this girl gets more beautiful as time goes on.”

Hermione blushed and turned her warm eyes on me. “Would you terribly mind if I changed out of my work clothes?”

I shook my head and watched her make her way to the bedroom. She closed the door most of the way, but I could see into the room. Instead of changing in the loo like she usually did, she unhooked her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She wore black tights, which allowed me to see the modest curve of her hips and her slender, long legs. She pulled her snug red sweater over her head, allowing me a chance to see her black satin bra. I’d seen her lovely tits through the Omnioculars, but there was something even better about watching her in such close proximity. As if she might let me touch her if the timing was right.

She shimmied out of her tights, baring her matching black knickers to my sight. The knickers covered her with a neat little triangle of fabric, but when she turned slightly, I got a glimpse of her naked arse. I’d never seen them in person, but I was pretty sure she wore a thong. I quietly made my way to her doorframe and watched her take her long hair out of a thick braid.

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I pretended not to see him in my doorway. His eyes were trained on me like a hawk and the idea of being his prey was very appealing. When I went to my dresser to remove my earrings and necklace, he pushed up against my back, his erection pressed against my bare cheeks.

“I could watch you walk around in this little get-up all day,” he growled into my ear. 

“Whenever you want,” I moaned as he caressed the skin of my bottom. My head fell back onto his shoulder.

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The mirror above her dresser showed me a perfect image of the two of us as I nuzzled her neck and caressed the smooth skin of her bum. Never before had I felt such arousal and anticipation for one woman. I’d enjoyed watching her, but being near her was hotter than I could have imagined. 

“I have to kiss you,” I whispered into her ear, nipping the delicate lobe.

“Please,” she whimpered, turning in my arms. 

I took her lovely face in my hands and swooped down to kiss her. She immediately opened her lips for me and my tongue began to explore her sweet mouth, her tongue stroking me erotically. Her fingers began to unbutton my shirt as we kissed, gently rubbing the skin she exposed. When she tentatively massaged my nipple, I moaned into her mouth and thrust against her. I broke the kiss to lead us to her bed. 

“No sex, okay?” she said softly, her dark eyes hooded with arousal. 

“No sex,” I agreed. 

She stepped closer, continuing to unbutton my shirt, her hands exploring my skin. I let out a ragged breath as she began to unbutton my trousers. 

“Is this alright?” she asked.

“Y-yes. I’ve daydreamed quite a bit about touching you and you touching me.”

“Tell me.”

Could I tell her? Would she be disgusted, or turned off by my proclivities? I didn’t think so, but was I willing to take my chances?

“In some of the fantasies,” I said, stopping to inhale a breath when she pushed my trousers down my legs and kneeled to take off my loafers. “you take me into your mouth and suck me until I orgasm.”

Hermione nudged my leg to get me to lift it so she could remove my clothes. She looked up at me, in just my boxers.

“Is that something you like?” 

“I imagine I would,” I said with a small laugh. Alas, I’d not had the opportunity for such a gift before. 

“My experience with most things of a sexual nature is limited, but I find the idea of oral sex with you exciting,” she admitted.

Thank fuck. I took her hand and helped her up. My hands went to her thick curls, amazed at how silky her hair was. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around my waist, her fingers scratching the skin of my lower back. 

“What else do you dream about, Draco?” She nudged me towards the bed and I sat. She sat on my lap, sideways, although I wished she were straddling me. I began to unhook her bra, but it was slow going since I barely knew what I was doing.

“I want to lick your quim, bury my tongue in your wetness.”

She shuddered at my description. “Mmm. I’d like that.”

After my fumbling, I finished unhooking her bra and she helped me remove it. Her breasts were spectacular, soft with pebbled pink tips. I began to fondle them, amazed by her body’s responsiveness. Every change in touch elicited a quickening of her breath or a small gasp. When I leaned my head down to suckle, her moan was desperate. 

I kissed her again and this time there was an urgency not there before. We were both incredibly turned on and I rejoiced when she did straddle me, putting my cock in direct contact with her warm core. Though there were two layers of fabric separating me from her, I didn’t care. The feel of her body against mine was incomparable. She began to rock, using my cock to rub the little nub of nerves at her apex. I pinched her nipples and Hermione threw back her head in pleasure. The cherry on the top of this whole situation was that I was facing the dresser mirror and could see her riding me, as well as the frontal view I had of her beautiful body, with her tits bouncing up and down as she moved. 

I let my hand wander to the crease of her buttocks, sliding one finger lightly along the crack, where the thin ribbon of fabric disappeared. She must have liked that because she began to grind into me and I bucked into her.

We kissed frantically and she pulled away from my mouth.

“Oh, Gods, Draco! I’m going to come,” she whimpered, her voice high and breathy.

That was it. I began to guide her hips with my hands, pushing her down onto me. I felt her wetness through my shorts and when she cried out, I let go, too. We moved together for a few more seconds before she slumped against me, clinging to my neck. My face was buried in her hair, making me feel like we were in our own separate world. 

She stood and I worried she was going to ask me to go, but instead she got under the covers.

“Don’t go yet,” she said, patting the mattress. It was my pleasure to sink into her comfortable bed and pull her close, wrapping my arms around her. This was the secret part of my daydreams, the part where we held each other, and she was mine and I was hers. 

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“Happy birthday, Draco,” Hermione said with excitement and handed me a brightly wrapped box. 

Within three months of the day we admitted our voyeuristic and exhibitionist tendencies, I was living with Hermione. Her natural curiosity and sense of adventure was refreshing after spending so much time alone. We explored England together and for the first time in my life, I had someone I could show all my stripes. She took my faults in stride and I, hers. But the more I got to know her, the more there was to like.

I carefully opened the box and found a Muggle video camera. 

“Would you like to see how it works?” she asked after I thanked her. 

“Yes,” I said, following her into the bedroom where I found the bed arranged a bit differently.

“Do you remember telling me you liked the pornography we watched, but you would have liked it better if we were in it?”

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As we watched our images on the telly later that night, Hermione wearing a lacy red thong and nothing else and me absolutely butt naked, I was exhilarated by what we had done. After we’d undressed for the camera, she had pushed me against the edge of the bed and kneeled before me, taking my cock into her mouth and sucking, licking, and pumping until I came with a shout, my hands guiding her head along my spurting length. In the sequence, she looked up at me and winked as I recovered from the intense orgasm still flooding my body with pleasure.

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Two years after we began living together, we were married in her grandmother’s garden and I watched her walk down the aisle towards me, her big, brown eyes luminescent, her love for me clear for all to see. 

Three years later, we’d saved enough to purchase a cottage a few miles from my parents. It was spacious and we spent many evenings and weekends making it habitable. After a long day of wandwork and manual labor, I’d watch Hermione relax in the large clawfoot tub in our master bath, her body only slightly obscured by the steaming water. She knew I enjoyed observing her and made sure to pretend she was unaware of my attention. How I loved that she accepted my desire to watch her more private moments.

Hermione estimated Crooks age to be around twenty-five when he died a year after we moved into Malfoy Cottage. She had been sad, as Crooks had been her companion for more than half her life, but I was heartbroken. I’d never had a pet before and Crooks had been accepting of me from the beginning. After I began living with Hermione, he took me on as a master and became my familiar, helping me hone my magic even further. When she came home from work one day with a squirmy, reddish-blonde puppy, I felt as if my heart would burst, both from excitement and from a feeling of moving on from the death of my furry feline friend. We named the puppy Mathilda and she grew to be a loyal, sweet dog. 

In quick succession, we had two children, Scorpius and Leander. I watched my wife grow round with each babe, her body changing to accommodate the life inside her. For the first time in our relationship, she was uncomfortable with my attention, but I never thought her more beautiful. I watched her push each boy from her body, my respect for her growing tenfold in those moments. Whether or not she knew it, the intimate knowledge I had of her only made her more desirable to me. 

Our lives grew and changed over the years, but I always had time to watch my arresting wife, to appreciate all the qualities that made me fall in love with her.


	2. The Mating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on Beauty and the Beast with a Dramione twist.

 

 

Hermione looked around the dim forest, using her wand to help her find north.  The trees were so dense and tall, she had begun to lose her idea of where she was at least two hour before.  The fall air held the steely cold of impending snow and as it was twilight, she was beginning to worry that she’d have to camp in the woods.  She continued to trudge through the thick brush, hoping that eventually she’d come to the edge of the forest and Apparate back to her little flat.

 

She’d never even found the injured unicorn she’d set out to help.  

 

Through the indigo light, she thought she saw a cabin.  Could it be that someone might be able to help her?  She continued to walk towards the dim light coming through the windows and eventually found herself in front of a stone, thatched roof cabin.  The wooden door was solid and she knocked as precisely as she could.  Something about the little dwelling made her nervous.  No one answered and she knocked again, this time more forcefully.  Hermione listened carefully and made out sounds within the cabin.

 

“Hello?” she called.  “I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I seem to be lost.”

 

She waited another minute and heard footsteps approach the door.

 

“If you could just open the door for a moment, I promise I mean no harm.  I’ve lost my way, you see.”

 

“You’re close to the edge of the forest.  Just keep walking along the brook that starts a few meters north of this cabin,” said the gruff, but oddly cultured voice of the man on the other side of the door.

 

This was likely the best she’d get from this fellow, Hermione thought despondently.  

 

“Alright, well, thank you,” she said and made her way in the direction the wizard had pointed her towards.  

 

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An hour later it had begun to snow.  The air was mild now, but as the night wore on the temperature would get colder and colder until the little brook would begin to form an icy crust along its edges.

 

Draco found himself worrying for the young woman who had knocked earlier.  He’d really been doing her a favor by not inviting her in, he reasoned.  Once she’d seen him and this hovel he called a home, she would have been terrified and the last thing he needed was for her to report him to the Aurors.  Perhaps he could just make sure she made it out of the woods.

 

He followed her scent, which reminded him of Hogwarts, he thought with a rueful smile: parchment, ink, old texts and the warm, sweet scent of beeswax candles.  Underlying the obvious smells was the smell of a sexually mature woman, slightly musky and sweet at the same time.  After his attack, the perfume most women wore made his eyes water, but this woman didn’t use anything other than a mild soap.  

 

She was sitting on a rock, digging through a little handbag when he saw her.  She looked up at the crunch of his boots on the forest floor.  Her wand was out and pointed at him in a split second.

 

“Reveal yourself,” she said in voice slightly tinged with fear.  

 

Draco moved into a blacker shadow so she would not see him.  “It is I, the person whose home you came upon.  I wanted to make sure you found your way to the forest’s edge.”

 

She took a shallow breath, her eyes trying to make him out in the darkness.  “Am I far?  I can’t see a thing, even with my wand lit.”

 

“The edge of the forest is about four kilometers from here.  You don’t have a broom?”

 

He saw her shake her head.  And against his better judgment, he made the decision to help her.  He would not have another senseless death on his hands.

 

“Come back to my cabin,” he said, turning and walking back to his home.  He didn’t wait for an answer, but eventually heard her quickening her pace to follow him.

 

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 _I wish I could see his face, but he’s had his back to me the entire walk._   The snow had begun to fall in earnest and the clouds obscured any moonlight.  Hermione thought the man held his body as if he was young-ish.  Well, he wasn’t old.  For some odd reason, he reminded her of Remus Lupin, who had always had the demeanor of a man who was used to being kicked while he was down.

 

“What is your name, sir?” she asked with a bit of trouble as the man walked quickly through the snowy landscape, while she was trying her hardest to keep her balance amongst the brush, rocks and odd divots in the forest floor.  He continued his fast pace and after several moments, she didn’t think he planned to answer her.  Perhaps it would have been better for her to have built a fire and made her way to the edge of the forest in the morning.  But the air had become cold and her hands were beginning to tingle with the chill.

 

He slowed slightly at the sound of her heavy breathing.  “Draco.”

 

 _Draco Malfoy?_   It was assumed he had died after a werewolf pack ravaged him when he left Azkaban.  His body had never been found, but…one did not normally survive that level of violence. 

 

The woman said nothing, so Draco thought she didn’t recognize his name and breathed a sigh of relief.  He pulled the hood of his cloak up as they finally approached the cabin.  He left the door open for her and made his way into the dim interior, heating water on the cast iron stove, which doubled as the main heat source for the room.

 

Hermione entered and found herself in a room with a cozy chair, a table and wooden chair and stacks and stacks of books.  It was clear Draco Malfoy led a most isolated existence.  

 

“Please sit at the table and I’ll get you some tea.”

 

“Thank you,” she murmured.  He still had his hood up and had yet to look directly at her.

 

“Will you sit with me?  I believe I have some Frog Cards in my bag, if you’d care for a sweet.”

 

“Frog Cards?”

 

“My nieces and nephews like them,” she said with a smile.  “But I feel I could do with a bit of chocolate just about now.”

 

He didn’t say anything else, just collected a cup and a loaf of bread from his cupboard.  

 

“Do you recognize me?” Hermione finally asked.  

 

He stopped moving at her voice.  “It would be better if you didn’t look at me, Granger.  There’s a very good reason I don’t go out in public any more.”

 

He bid her goodnight after he made her tea and served her two slices of bread with butter.  He left her with a pillow and blanket and transfigured his chair into a small bed.  

 

For the first time in many months, Draco did not wake up drenched in sweat and shaking, but rather oddly comforted from the sounds of the woman in the other room.

 

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The absolute quiet of the forest had woken her when the muted light began pushing aside the black of the night.  She went to the window to find it still snowing, the landscape a white frosted wonderland.  There was no way she would be able to leave today.  

 

She used the loo, washed up as best she could and used her wand to Conjure a hair tie for her hair which she had braided.  Hermione wasn’t a vain woman, but she did her best to look neat and clean.  If she’d known she’d be away from home for several hours, and maybe even a day or two, she’d have at least packed her toothbrush.  

 

Draco’s little kitchen had basics like eggs, bread, and sugar, so Hermione began to make French toast.  She was amazed at his ice box, which looked very small, like a dormitory refrigerator, but had an extension charm on the inside which made it as large as a regular sized fridge.  He had a jar of raspberry preserves hiding in the back, which she planned to use as a topping.  

 

Malfoy came into the main room to find Hermione patiently waiting to flip a piece of bread on a pan.

 

“Good morning,” he said quietly.  “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to leave today.”

 

“I figured,” she said, putting the toast on a plate.  What had started as a gentle snowfall the previous evening had steadily kept on all night.  The result was a third of a meter of snow with no signs of the snow stopping.

 

Draco sat at the table where she put a plate of French toast in front of him.  The warm raspberry preserves acted as a sauce and the whole meal looked delicious.  He took care to keep his hood over his face, even as he ate.  No reason to punish her with the sight of his scarred visage.

 

Hermione had so many questions for him, but she knew he was hiding and didn’t want to push him.  

 

“Where do you get your food?” she asked out of curiosity.  He had said he avoided going out in public.

 

“My parents have a box sent to me every week.”

 

“Why don’t you live at Malfoy Manor?”

 

Draco stood and began to wash his dishes by hand.  With his back turned to her, he finally answered.

 

“They don’t think it’s safe for me to live with them.”

 

Hermione had seen no indication that Draco was dangerous, but werewolf attacks had strange outcomes.  If he had become a werewolf, which she didn’t think he had based on his isolated life, he could be dangerous at certain times, but Wolfsbane helped many afflicted with Lycanthropy to lead a normal life.  Others, like Bill Weasley, had increased strength, but also increased anger, which was triggered at times of stress.  She’d even met a man, Dagmar, who had been attacked by a werewolf, and had spent years as a tracker of lost people.  He worked in the Muggle world with a specialized dog, which was mostly for appearances, but every so often when the Aurors were having trouble with a missing person case, they’d bring in Dagmar.           

 

She wanted to ask him why they thought he was dangerous, but didn’t want to pry.  He’d opened his cabin to her and she really was grateful.

 

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Hermione transfigured Draco’s comfy chair into a loveseat and spent the day reading through his copy of _A History of the Berserkers in Scotland_.  He went in and out of the cottage, getting firewood periodically, although Hermione thought he was trying to stay away from her.  When the snow stopped for a few minutes in the middle of the day, she offered to try to make it to the forest’s edge, but Draco assured her the weather would pick back up within half an hour, which it did.  In fact, the sky was so grey and ominous, Hermione sent a Patronus to Harry assuring him she was safe and had found a friendly wizard willing to share his home with her until the snow let up.  His stag told her not to take any chances and he’d see her when she got back.  

 

“What was that?” Draco asked from the doorway.

 

“I let Harry know I was safe, but I didn’t tell him I was with you.  I can see you like your privacy.”

 

“I’d rather people continue to think I was dead rather than this thing I’ve become.  I appreciate your discretion.”

 

“Malfoy, it can’t possibly be as bad as you think.  Maybe I can help?”

 

Draco added wood to the fire and stood.  He was huge: tall, muscular and totally imposing.  Hermione suspected this was the result of the lycanthropy for him, changing his body and making him larger than life.

 

“Werewolf damage cannot be disguised by spell or fixed by potion.  But the worst part of the attack is the way it changes your body.  I’m always on alert, always ready to fight an attacker.  I don’t rest well and you’d be smart to keep your distance from me.  You never know if my body will interpret you as a threat before my mind realizes you aren’t.”

 

And suddenly the pieces fell into place.  Lucius Malfoy, who’d always used his cane for show, was suddenly leaning on it for balance in the months following his son’s attack.  Draco had attacked his father, interpreting him as a foe rather than a friend.  Narcissa held her husband’s arm, not for propriety, but to offer him another source of strength.  

 

“They must have known you’d be changed by the attack.  There were precautions I’m sure they took…”

 

Draco sat at the table with his head down.  He seemed so sad.  Hermione wondered if this was the first time he had talked to someone about what had happened to him.  

 

“We don’t need to talk about it, Granger.  It’s in the past.  You’ll be on your way as soon as this weather clears and I’ll go back to my life.  Please say no more.”

 

There was something about Draco Malfoy’s plea that spoke to Hermione.  He’d yet to say an unkind word, though he was cautious around her.  He’d been honest and open about his situation, although he was still hiding his face.  The way he spent his days working outdoors, exploring the forest, and reading would have been idyllic had the circumstances been better.  He seemed to have no one, but he’d eked out an existence for himself.

 

“Alright, Draco.  But, if you know anything about me at all, you’d know appearances mean almost nothing to me.”

 

He mumbled something under his breath and stalked out of the cabin.

 

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When he returned nearly three hours later, Hermione could tell he’d been running.  The salty smell of his sweat permeated the small space and he ignored her, heading for his bedroom and then the loo, where the shower was turned on.  

 

After finding food suitable for dinner, Hermione pan fried two chicken breasts and roasted a pan of potatoes, carrots, and onions.  She wasn’t the best cook, but if she was staying here the least she could do was help with the cooking and light housework.  

 

“I made dinner.  I hope you don’t mind,” Hermione said when she saw him lingering in the doorway of his bedroom.

 

“No, but won’t your ginger git mind you cooking for another man?  That must be the highest form of betrayal for a pig like him.”

 

Hermione froze, mouth agape for a few seconds until she began to giggle.  Oh. My. God!  Ron would’ve found this highly disloyal if she had been with him, which she hadn’t been for many, many years.  In fact, Ron had married a woman so like Molly, Hermione had been glad Harry and Ginny had supported her decision to end things with him.  

 

“Ron!  Gods, Malfoy, did you really think we’d end up together?” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.  “Ron and his wife live at The Burrow with his mum and dad, if you can believe it.  Merlin, can you imagine trying to get in the mood with Molly yelling things to Arthur and people constantly running up and down the stairs?”  

 

Draco found himself smiling, actually smiling, at the sight of the incredulous woman before him.  Well, he would have been surprised if Hermione’s good sense led her to the Weasel, but stranger things had happened.  

 

Hermione continued to chuckle as she set the table with heaping plates of food and cutlery.  She’d even found a dusty bottle of wine in the cabinet and placed it upon the table to breathe before she served it.  

 

“I know you weren’t making a joke, but I haven’t laughed that hard in, Gods, years.”

 

He served them each a glass of wine.  “Thank you for dinner.”

 

She held up her glass to clink it with his.  “Here’s to getting lost and found.  Cheers.”

 

“Cheers.”

 

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After dinner, Draco offered to clean up while Hermione took a shower.  He’d lent her one of his shirts to sleep in.  He had to admit, it was nice to have someone around, even if only temporarily.  As a former felon and one of the afflicted, he was less than desirable as a friend, or anything else, to ninety-nine percent of the population.  Hermione had been so bloody normal around him, he felt, for the first time in years, like his old self. 

 

Deciding it would be better to end the evening on a high note, he stoked the fire in his cast iron stove and then made his way to bed, quietly shutting the door behind him.  

 

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The next morning dawned cold and snowy.  Draco woke before Hermione and carefully made his way to the loo so as not to wake her.  He hadn’t worn his cloak since he knew she was still asleep, but when he left the bathroom to dress for the day he turned to find her looking right at him.  Her eyes were wide with horror as she studied the dark pink scars on his face, which shredded the skin from his forehead to his chin.  Half of one ear had been bitten off, but the very worst was his right eye, which had been punctured and now looked permanently red and angry.

 

He stood defiantly before her, pleased to have shocked the words from her ever-prattling mouth.  After what felt like ages, she looked away and he released a breath he’d been holding and went back into his room.  

 

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After that incident, he ignored her knocks at the door, beckoning him with scrambled eggs and ham.  By lunch, he needed to eat or risk making himself sick.  His semi-werewolf state required him to ingest more food than he ever had in the past.  

 

“You must be hungry,” she said, not looking up from her book.

 

He hummed in agreement and found a plate of food under a stasis charm on the counter.  He wore his cloak, as not to subject her to his monstrous visage and tucked into the meal she’d made.

 

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They barely spoke the rest of the day and after murmured goodnights, they went to sleep.  It had been the type of day filled with tension, but boring, so Hermione found it hard to sleep.  He still looked like Draco Malfoy to her and his scars didn’t bother her like they so clearly bothered him.  But her cursed _Mudblood_ scar didn’t bother most people, either, and she found the scar almost unbearable to look at after a nightmare.  Her scar was associated with one of the worst days of her life, so perhaps that was Draco’s problem, too.  Her scar could be covered with a long shirt, but his face was harder to hide without bringing attention to himself.  

 

There was something oddly enticing about him now.  He was raw, but infinitely humbler and his massive physique was beautiful.  Wizards were, in general, a less physical bunch due to the use of their magic in place of certain physical labors, so she had gotten use to thinner, flabbier men.  Her Muggle upbringing must have ingrained on her psyche some desire for a more robust man, but her logic had pushed that aside when she imagined a partner.

 

When it was almost midnight, she finally fell asleep.

 

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She awoke to a low moan that got louder and more frantic.  Everyone who had fought in the war had terrible nightmares and she knew he would be no different, although it had been ten years since the war ended.  When he started to scream, she could not sit by and decided to wake him.

 

Hermione opened his door to find him thrashing.  He’d warned her he could be dangerous, but after the time they’d spent together, she had begun to feel protective about him.  She edged closer to his bed, whispering his name and thought he was beginning to relax when his hand shot out and yanked her on top of him.  She knew to let her body go lax, so he wouldn’t interpret her as a threat, but in doing so she molded herself against his muscular form.  One of his hands was grasping her arse while the other fisted her hair and exposed her neck to him.  His eyes were still closed, but his breathing had quickened and he buried his nose in her exposed neck, right at her pulse point.  She tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he growled and began to rock his burgeoning erection into the valley between her thighs.  

 

_This is wrong.  He’s reacting to instinct, not choice.  Gods above, he feels so bloody good!_

 

She called to him and stroked his face with her hands, ever conscious not to awake the drive to fight.  He was grinding into her, his huge cock rubbing her clitoris through the fabric of their clothing.  And through no fault of her own, she came, gasping and moaning through the waves of pleasure that seemed to keep going and going.  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, a look of predatory glee piercing her hazy mind.

 

And then he bit her neck, _hard_ , and she screamed in pain.  Distantly, she realized he had come from the hot dampness seeping through the thin fabric of her knickers.      

 

He stilled, continuing to hold her against him as his tongue soothed the sting of his bite.

 

“You marked me,” she whispered, tears of shock beginning to wet her eyes.

 

“I told you to stay away.  _You were warned_.”

 

 

 

The next morning, she was gone.

 

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Two feet of snow had hardly bothered her as she trudged along the brook in the direction of the forest’s edge.  After Apparating to her little flat, she’d taken a long, hot shower and examined the dark purple bruise surrounding the area of the bite.  He’d broken skin and then licked the site repeatedly, like an animal trying to heal a wound.      

 

She’d yet to return to work after her days with Draco Malfoy.  Her bed became her refuge and for the first time in her adult life, she couldn’t see her path anymore.  Her low-level job, as she could finally admit to herself, wasn’t really helping magical creatures.  The accolades she’d earned from the war had faded and many wizarding societal norms she’d hoped to challenge had become de rigueur once again.  All of her friends had settled down, while she had been relegated to the role of an old maid at the age of twenty-nine.  

 

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He split wood, fished, repaired his roof and scrubbed his little cabin from top to bottom.  He hadn’t realized what he was doing until he found himself adding a closet to his bedroom, which was asinine since he had few clothes.  Draco was making room in his home for Hermione.  His “other side” as he referred to it, was fully expecting that she would return.  

 

One week passed, then a second, and by the third week he started to worry.  The sense of purpose he’d had began to wane as the days ticked by.  

 

For the first time in several years, he would venture from the solitude of his cabin to finish the mating dance they’d begun weeks before.

 

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She finally returned to her job at the Ministry, a mountain of paperwork welcoming her back after her leave of absence.  This was the last place she wanted to be, but she needed the money.  

 

After work, she made her way along the streets of London.  The crowds, the cars, and the lights should have helped her to feel protected from scrutiny, but she could swear she was being followed.  The wizards who had wanted to eradicate her kind so many years before had left her alone for the most part.  Occasionally, she’d receive hate mail, but it was a well-documented fact that her dueling skills were not to be trifled with.  The tingling at the nape of her neck continued, so she slipped into an alley with the intention of Disapparating to her flat when she was pushed against a wall, her wand arm held behind her.

 

“I have no intentions of hurting you, Granger.  Will you attack me if I let go?”

 

She said nothing as Draco’s body pressed her into the wall and his breath tickled her ear.  An odd, feral thought came to her as her body hummed from their contact.  He had tracked her to this Muggle London neighborhood, away from everything that kept him safe and in his mind, other people safe.  She let her innate, instinctual magic free and blasted him back.

 

_Catch me if you can, Malfoy._

 

She darted into the busy, dark street, quickly making her way to the next block where her building was.  The tingling sensation of being followed was more intense than before, but adrenaline helped her navigate the streets as quickly as she ever had.  He had the lupine advantage of strength and smell, but she knew this area and he did not.  Her heart was thumping from both excitement and a tinge of fear.  

 

A young man was exiting her building and let her in, recognizing her from a few brief interactions over the months he’d lived there.  She knew the door would lock behind her and took the elevator to her flat.  The door pinged and opened on her floor and she rounded the hallway corner to open her door, her key falling to the ground in her haste.  Finally, she opened the door and began to enter when both her arms were wrenched behind her.  

 

“Did you really think you’d outrun me?  Hmm?”

 

Draco pushed her inside and kicked the door shut.  He grabbed her wand from her coat pocket and put it in his cloak.  

 

“Why are you here?” she asked, her body instinctually relaxing against his.  His free hand began stroking her long neck, finding the area he’d bitten and rubbing it with the pads of his fingers.  

 

He chuckled darkly, taking a whiff of her thick hair.  “We have unfinished business, pet.”

 

His free hand began to unbutton her coat, his fingers grazing her breasts, causing her to gasp.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She felt his lips graze her ear, his nose nuzzling into her hair.  “You left before we could finish our mating.  I’ve grown tired of waiting for you to come back so I had to take matters into my own hands, Hermione.”

 

He’d released her hands and continued to undress her.  “I’ve felt your longing, your loneliness.  You don’t have enough here to keep you tied to this life.”

 

“You don’t know that,” she protested weakly.

 

“I do,” he growled.  “You were fated to find me.”

 

“Will you hurt me?”

 

“Not intentionally,” he admitted.  “I will try to be careful.”

 

She stilled, allowing him to finish unbuttoning her shirt.  Her back was to his chest as he palmed her breasts over her simple white bra.  She tried to turn to face him but he held her tightly, his cock pressing into her back.

 

“No, no, no princess.  I’m in control now.”

 

Her soft voice was uncharacteristically submissive.  “Will you kiss me?”

 

He led her to the sofa and used his wand to darken the room.  Light from the city filtered into the flat.

 

“It’s still too bright,” he said with frustration.

 

“We’re to become mates after this process is completed, right?”

 

“Yes, mates are bonded pairs.  They can feel each other’s emotions and read some rudimentary thoughts from the other person.”

 

“I’m sure you will find this hard to believe, but I find you incredibly alluring.  You have an incredible physique.  While the extent of your scars surprised me, they don’t repel me in any way.  If anything, they remind me of your will to survive and thrive in your new circumstances.”

 

He had stilled at her words, the basic bond they’d established discerning her intentions.  “You really _do_ feel that way.” 

 

“Yes.  We shouldn’t hide from each other any more.”

 

Stepping back, he unhooked his cloak and let it fall to the ground.  She didn’t turn, even when she heard the fabric of his safety blanket hit the floor, but began to walk to her bedroom.  If what had happened in the cabin was any indication, the mating would be intense.  Draco followed behind her the short distance, his focus on the woman forcing him to confront his fears.  When they passed the threshold, Hermione turned and looked at him with such fire, he forgot his scars and his worries of hurting her.  Two steps in her direction and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his tongue immediately stroking hers, relishing the intimacy and warmth she offered him.  

 

As his mouth plundered hers, he ripped her clothes off her body, his brutal strength tearing the fabric like sheets of paper.  Her hands roamed over his chest, arms, and back, amazed at the strength of his muscles.  She began to unbutton his shirt, but he walked her towards the bed, even as they continued to kiss.  When her legs hit the mattress, he broke the kiss to remove his clothing, revealing his scarred, but god-like body to Hermione.  Her hands began to explore the pale skin, her touch gentle but firm.  

 

“Your body is a work of art,” she said breathily, taking his cock into her hand and mapping his hardness with her soft fingers.  

 

He brushed her hand away and nudged her further down the bed.  She shocked him by getting on her hands and knees, her legs spread slightly to reveal her slick center.  He positioned himself behind her, his big body covering hers before he pushed into her, a howl of triumph erupting from his lips.  She was gasping at the intrusion, whining at the incredible feel of his prick filling her like nothing ever had.  He thrust slowly to allow her to adjust to him, then began to pound into her in earnest.  His heavy balls slapped at her clit, while the ridge of his cock stimulated her eager G-spot.  

 

“Ohhh!” she screamed as her body began to pulse around him.  

 

It had been so long since he’d been in a woman’s body and his instinct roared at him to claim her.  He surged into her and as he began to feel his orgasm force his seed into her body, he sunk his teeth into the skin between her neck and shoulder.  

 

Instead of the scream of pain he’d expected, her body tensed and she shuddered, her quim pulsating around his penis as she screamed his name.  

 

He pulled her into a spooning position so he could lick at her wound.  The magic of the bond satisfied, the newly mated couple basked in the pleasure they had just shared.  She rubbed her smooth, nude body against him, the heat of his skin keeping her warm against the chill of her flat.

 

With a final lick and a gentle kiss to the bite, he snuggled into her.

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

She shook her head.  “No.  I wanted this.  You?”

 

“You are a blessing unto me,” he murmured.  “I will do whatever I can to ensure our mating is successful.”  

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

She breathed in the cold forest air as she stepped out of the cabin to get more wood.  The morning after the mating, she and Draco had talked and he had urged her to take a leave of absence from her job and join him in the forest.  Part of her wanted to resist leaving the life she’d led, but she knew her future was with the reclusive wizard who had marked her as his mate.  

 

Said mate was getting home from a run, his blond hair glinting in the clear winter sunlight.  He looked so happy, a satisfied grin turning his mouth upward.

 

“I’ll get that,” he said, jogging to the woodpile and grabbing more logs. 

 

“Thank you, love,” she said, pressing a quick kiss into his cheek as he went to work. 

 

They went back into the cabin, which was homier with the addition of Hermione’s couch, personal affects, and the warm touches he knew made her feel the space was her space, too.  She’d even brought her Muggle telly and DVD player so they could watch movies, a pastime Draco enjoyed immensely.  

 

While the mating bond helped Hermione feel more secure, centered, and loved, Draco felt a sense of peace he hadn’t had since he’d been a boy.  After so many years of being the odd man out, he was finally with someone who wanted him, even with his scars and detestable past.  The bond also increased their sexual compatibility, always making intercourse powerful.  The first week they had been at the cabin, they’d hardly left the bed, except for trips to the loo and food.

 

As they ate a lunch of sandwiches, Draco noticed Hermione picking at her plate.  The night before, he’d noticed her scent change slightly to include a fruity note of green apples.  He moved to kneel before her, putting his ear against her stomach.  

 

“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh.  Some of his more wolf-y tendencies still caught her by surprise.  

 

“Shh,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her.  His incredible sense of hearing allowed him to hear a fast paced rhythm along her slower heartbeat.

 

They’d been mated for just over three months. Everything had happened so fast for them, but a baby…since he’d been attacked, he never thought he’d have a mate, let alone a family.  He knew his mate loved children and wanted babes of her own, but it was so soon.  But the bond they shared told him she would welcome the news.

 

He looked up at her serene face and basked in her affection for him.  This was the best result of the mating, a child to love and bind them further.

 

“What is it, Draco?”

 

He cupped her face, fingering the smooth line of her jaw.  

 

“You’re pregnant.”

 

Her mouth opened, then closed.  They looked at each other and finally he could not help the smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners.  Her return smile was watery, her mouth tremulous.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, putting his arms around her.

 

She nodded, burying her nose in his silky hair.  He smelled like pine forests and snow, like _home_.  

 

“It’s really happening, you know?  I was starting to think I’d never get the chance to be a wife or a mother, but you changed that for me, Draco.  You’ll never know how glad I was to have gotten lost in your forest.”

 

He understood because he felt the same way, a beast of a man given a chance by a woman renowned for not only her brains, but her heart.  She had saved him from becoming more animal than man, from losing his humanity.  And in return, he gave her love and loyalty, yes, but dose of passion her life had so sorely lacked.  

 

He kissed her and when their lips met, he knew all the things he felt for her she reciprocated.  And he knew all would be well.

 

  

 


	3. Not Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione breaks up with Draco. In her typical post-breakup ritual, she aims to shag her feelings for Draco out of her system.

“Why didn’t you come to dinner last night?”

 

Draco didn’t meet Hermione’s eyes and continued to read the sports section of the Prophet as she stood awkwardly in his peripheral vision.

 

They’d been seeing each other for two months.  Hermione hadn’t been sure about dating the blond Slytherin at first, but Draco wore her down with his attention.  Things had been going well, smashing in fact, until last night when Draco didn’t show for a dinner with her parents.

 

“I had to work,” he said without emotion.

 

“I thought you would be there.”

 

Draco finally looked up.  “I never actually agreed to dinner.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips and waited for Draco to continue.  Instead he shrugged and went back to his paper.

 

It was at that moment Hermione realized she’d put much more stock into his pursuit of her than he had.  She’d thought he wanted something more substantial with her. Her muscles tensed as she stood still, trying to keep calm, but she felt as if a soft breeze might push her over. 

 

“Alright,” she said, her throat tightening, “I’m going to grab a few things from your bedroom.”

 

Once she’d made her way to his bed chambers, her actions were mechanical as she quickly grabbed a few toiletries that had migrated to his loo and took a final look at the rich, polished wood of the furniture and plush linens of his bed.  

 

When she returned from the bedroom, she stood behind Draco as he continued to peruse the paper.  

 

“Malfoy,” she said, her voice tinged with her nervousness and hurt.

 

He turned and raised his eyebrows at her odd expression.

 

“I’m going to go.  I think it’s best for me if we don’t see each other any longer.”

 

He seemed puzzled, even annoyed, as he looked at her face.  “Is this because I skipped dinner with your parents?”

 

Her mouth began to tremble as she said, “It’s part of it.  I want more from this than you’re willing to offer.  I’m actually very glad you were honest with me so I don’t waste any more time thinking this is something more than what it is.”

 

Without waiting for a response, she exited the room and made her way to the front door.  Once she got out of the grand manor, she let out a small sob and let the tears fall.  This hurt, but Hermione Granger had a a tried and true strategy for moving on after a breakup.  

 

 

::::

 

At age twenty, when Hermione had found out Ron was also seeing Susan Bones, she broke up with him and spent a month moping about her little flat, crying, eating ice cream, and watching trash on the telly.  Eventually, she stopped eating ice cream like it was her last meal when her denims no longer buttoned.

 

A few weeks later, Ginny and Harry broke up and the girls decided to get out there and go dancing.  Both witches’ self-esteem had suffered and they wanted to enjoy some drunken fun.  That night, Hermione took home a handsome Muggle and felt both beautiful and empowered by the experience.  While she knew nothing much would come of the liason, she had never explored her more sexual nature and found she quite liked it.  However, she didn’t want to damage her reputation in the wizarding world, so she generally went to Muggle bars and clubs to pick up men.  

 

So, here she was, five years later, making plans with Ginny to go to a club.  

 

“Should I owl Luna and Parvati for a night out on Saturday?” Gin asked, appreciating Hermione’s post-breakup ritual.  She’d done it herself after her epic breakup with Harry, but after her one-off with Blaise Zabini, he’d pursued her with such fervor she’d given in to seeing him again.  And again.  And again.  Eventually, Blaise persuaded her to give him a real shot and they’d been together ever since.  They’d been married for just over two years.  So Ginny thought there was a possibility of something better for Hermione than one-offs if she was open to it.

 

“Blaise doesn’t mind?”

 

Ginny laughed.  “No.  He feels terrible for encouraging you to give Malfoy a chance.  And he trusts me.”

 

Hermione hugged the lovely flame-haired witch.  “You deserve all the love Blaise gives you.  Now please let me into your gargantuan closet so I can borrow something for Saturday night.”

 

:::::

 

“Why do you want to know where they’re going?” Blaise asked suspiciously.  

 

“Just curious.  I heard that Hermione _shags wizards out of her system_.  Maybe I want to witness her fall from grace,” Draco said with a mean smirk.

 

“You’re a real piece of work,” Blaise said, shaking his head.  “You do know she’s bloody hot, right?  Not everyone knows her as the bookworm or the brains of the Golden Trio.  Maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll be gone by the time you get to the bar so you won’t have to watch some other bloke take her home.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

::::

 

The Muggle bar was loud with rock music blaring and people milling about in groups, clearly on the pull.  Tonight his hair was light brown and his eyes were blue.  He’d taken his inspiration from a Muggle magazine Hermione had left at the manor, some bloke called Paul Walker.  Draco watched as Hermione and her friends laughed and drank Muggle alcohol.  She looked gorgeous with her long legs in denim and a tiny top accenting her breasts.  She wore her hair in that wild way that screamed _fuck me_ , he thought bitterly.  Finally, Hermione broke from the group and made her way to the bar for another drink.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, giving her a charming smile.  

 

“Sure,” she said, turning to look at him.  Her brow creased in confusion for a moment before she schooled her face into something more pleasant.  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

 

“I don’t think so,” he said.

 

“Are you here with friends?”

 

“Uh, no, just wanted to enjoy a few libations after a long week of work,” he explained.  He did work very hard as the CEO of Malfoy Enterprises.  “Are you here with someone?”

 

“No,” she said with a sly smile.  “I’m totally free.”

 

:::::::::::::

 

“What’s your name?” he asked as they flirted on the walk back to her flat.   

 

“Jean,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him up the steps to her building.  

 

He noticed she didn’t ask his name, signaling her intent for the evening.  Nonetheless, as soon as they got into her flat she was kissing him, her hands pulling his shirt from his black pants.  Her mouth was aggressive, with her tongue dueling with his as his hands explored her curves.  He tried to slow things down by peppering kisses along her neck, but she pushed him down on the bed, pulling his clothes off as she quickly threw the offending garments to the floor.  This version of Hermione was ruthless, taking what she wanted.  He rather liked it and let her enjoy the power.  

 

Draco was slightly alarmed when she grabbed a little packet and tore it open with her teeth, then unrolled some kind of sleeve over his prick.  It was a bit desensitizing, but he remembered her telling him Muggles used these for birth control.  

 

“You’re—” Draco murmured.

 

Before he could say any more, she straddled him and lowered her tight heat onto him, moaning as she began to rock back and forth.  He was jealous that some stranger would get to enjoy her uninhibitedness.  

 

He cupped her breasts and caught a nipple in his mouth, sucking as she rode him hard, grinding her clit against him.  

 

“I’m going to come,” she groaned, quickening her pace.

 

Draco grabbed her hips and roughly thrust against her body.  

 

“Fuck,” he bit out as she scratched his chest with her nails.  He let himself go, enjoying the release as she let out a long, low moan.  She collapsed over him, breathing hard into his shoulder.  

 

He wanted to say something, but decided to stay quiet.  Finally, she moved off of him, lying beside him on the double bed.  The silence became uncomfortable after he noticed her breaths start to slightly stutter, as if she wanted to burst into tears.

 

“You should go,” she said as she stood and made her way to the loo.  

 

As he dressed, he could hear her quiet whimpers over the sound of the running water of the sink.  The part of Draco that was angry she had dumped him was overshadowed by the part of him that felt his heart contract as he listened to her cry.     

 

:::::

 

He saw her in the halls of the Ministry and she ignored him.  She had grown into a beauty, but her eyes were shadowed and her posture indicated that she didn’t want to be bothered.  

 

“Malfoy,” Harry said as he entered the lift.  

 

“Potter.”

 

The two were on friendly terms, due to the mix of friends they had in common.  Harry had even dated Daphne Greengrass for a few weeks after he and Ginny had broken up.    

 

“Sorry to hear about you and Hermione.”

 

Draco scowled.  “We’re working some things out separately.”

 

Harry nodded, but looked unconvinced.  “Sure.  Does she know that?”

 

Draco let out a breath.  “No.  But I have a plan.”

 

Harry felt sorry for the other wizard, knowing Hermione had already moved on, from what Luna had told him.  He thought the shagging strangers business wasn't very Hermione-like behavior, but sometimes matters of the heart weren’t logical or reasonable.  

 

“Good luck, mate,” Harry said with a nod, and stepped off the elevator.

 

::::::::

 

He picked her up in coffee houses, grocers, bookshops and cinemas.  They fucked in tiny loos, dark side streets, dressing rooms, and even once in a never-used room of an art museum.  

 

Each time he made sure to change his appearance and to speak as little as possible.  Draco wondered if she might suspect that he was her mystery lover, but she never said anything, though she’d sometimes looked at him with a furrowed brow.  

 

He’d started his deception thinking he was tricking her and helping himself feel better about being dumped by her, but after they shagged, he realized she wasn’t doing what she was doing out of joy or fun.  It really seemed that she was trying to get her mind off of him, although he could tell it was going to take a lot more one-offs to get to that place.  

 

He hadn’t wanted to be shackled in marriage, not after the hell he’d seen his father put his mother through, but he felt sick thinking that Hermione might actually be fucking every random bloke in England if he’d not intervened.  Draco began to imagine what it might be like to let her into his life a bit more than he had.  She was genuine in her feelings for him, of that he was assured.  Hermione Granger certainly didn’t care about his millions of Galleons or his handsome looks.  What he worried about were the traits he shared with Lucius Malfoy.  He never wanted to be the wizard who would break his family with his desire for power, recognition, and money.  So, he’d made a decision early on to eschew marriage and distance himself from any witch who showed any interest in a deeper relationship with him.  

 

Now he wasn’t so sure he could see himself without Hermione Granger.    

 

:::::::

 

The next club where Draco found Hermione was darker, with smoke swirling about the dance floor and a deep bass beat shaking the walls.  Couples undulated to the music or sat in the velvet lined booths and snogged.  It was the type of place Draco had frequented when he wanted an anonymous fuck and he could feel that familiar anger that Hermione was here to do that very thing.  

 

This evening Draco had vaguely glamoured himself into some Muggle called Christian Bale.  He wore a tight black pair of trousers and a black button-down shirt.  He’d wanted to look the part as not to arouse Hermione’s suspicions about him.  Since she was drinking, he knew he wouldn’t be on the lookout for his glamoured features.  

 

He made his way onto the dance floor as she danced by herself.  Hermione had dressed the part as well, with her hair charmed straight, her eyes darkly lined, and a deep purple slinky dress that ended mid thigh.  Merlin, she looked like an advertisement for his every wet dream as a teen.  

 

They made eye contact and Draco took it as his cue join her.

 

“Hello,” he murmured into her ear.  “You here alone?”

 

She nodded, closing her eyes and putting her hands around his neck, drawing him in close.  He traced a finger down her neck to the top of her breast.  

 

“What’s your name?” he whispered into her ear, nipping the delicate lobe and causing her to shiver.

 

“Hermione,” she answered truthfully.  

 

She allowed him to explore her body as they moved to the sensual music, his hands tracing along her back and arse.  

 

“Let’s get out of here.”

 

:::::

 

Draco decided to get a hotel room.  It was getting exhausting fucking in cramped spaces.

 

This time he wasn’t going to allow her to take control of the situation.  The last time he’d left her, he’d felt slightly defeated.  He needed to find out more about her state of mind from these encounters. 

 

“I don’t do this often,” he said as they entered the posh room.  “When I do this kind of thing, I don’t want it to feel sleazy.”

 

She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

 

He poured them each a drink from the room’s small bar.  The lighting was low and intimate and he noticed Hermione admiring the view of the city.  She was quiet this evening, enjoying the beautiful hotel room and the buzz of the alcohol she had imbibed at the club.   

 

Draco kept his voice low as not to alert her his deceit.  

 

“You’re very beautiful.  How is it a woman like you isn’t involved with someone?”

 

He was worried Hermione might not answer, but she put her glass down on the window ledge and made her way to him.  

 

“There was someone,” she said, punctuating her words by slowly unbuttoning his black shirt.  “But now there’s not.”

 

Draco decided to let the conversation go, for now.  He allowed her to continue her slow trail down his body as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.  Worried that she would notice particulars about his body, he leaned in and kissed her, pushing her to the couch.  He knelt between her long legs and nuzzled her thighs, pushing her legs apart with his kisses.  When he reached the apex of her legs, he pushed his nose into her knickers, rubbing it against her hard, little clit.

 

“Oh, God,” she moaned, spreading her legs into a wide V.  

 

He continued to trail his mouth along the flimsy fabric of her knickers, enjoying the scent of her arousal.  He loved licking her quim and decided that she’d been teased enough.  With her aid he pulled her knickers down her smooth legs and put them into his pocket.  She was now bared to him and he saw her little pussy was shaved clean.  

 

“Put your legs on my shoulders.”

 

She obliged, her eyes glassy with want from the teasing he was doing.  After the last few weeks, Draco knew she usually fucked her targets quickly, but he had other plans.  He licked her plump lower lips, tracing them with his tongue.  She liked it when he took his time with oral sex.  His nose grazed her clit and he continued to lightly tongue her.  He pushed his tongue into her, her wetness beginning to coat his mouth and chin.  When he gently pushed a finger into her arse, she moaned.  

 

Draco was thrilled at her response and began sucking her clit.  Her hips were rocking against his mouth and she pushed against the finger stroking her back entrance.  He knew she liked when he played between her cheeks, although she never asked him to do so.  

 

“Ahh!” she groaned as she began to come.  Draco could feel her pulsing around his finger and he suckled hard at her turgid bundle of nerves.  After a moment she pushed his mouth away from her.

 

“Too much,” she whispered.  “You’re amazing at that.”

 

Draco grinned at her and gently removed his finger from her tight hole, kissing his way up her belly and between her breasts.  He leaned over her and kissed her, letting her taste her juices.  She began to push his shirt off his shoulders as they kissed.

 

Draco broke the kiss and looked down at this lovely witch’s flushed face and pouty lips.

 

“Bedroom.”

 

:::::::::::

 

Draco kneeled on the soft bed with Hermione sitting on his lap, his cock embedded in her tender flesh.  He knew this intimate position was dangerous, as he could feel close to her like he once had.  They looked into each other’s eyes, occasionally gasping or moaning.  After her intense orgasm, Hermione was more open to slow, sensual sex and Draco planned to take advantage.  

 

He relished the way she carded her fingers through his hair, amazed at the sense of wholeness he felt as they shared their bodies.  He cupped her arse, moving her hips to allow him to fully penetrate her body.  The wide head of his penis rubbed against her g-spot and she cried out in surprise. 

 

“Come, sweet girl,” Draco whispered into her ear as he enjoyed her gasps every time he hit the sensitive spot in her channel.  

 

His hips pistoned into her as his hands guided her up and down on his aching cock.  He knew she was close as she began to claw at his shoulders.

 

“Yes!” she moaned, her body overwhelming her with pleasure as she orgasmed in her lover’s embrace.  

 

Draco buried his face in her neck as he came, her sounds of pleasure music to his ears.  He’d always loved how she vocalized her desires during sex.

 

They clung to each other as they came down from their mutual highs.  After a moment, Draco felt wetness on his neck as Hermione’s breathing began to change.  

 

“Are you alright?” he asked cautiously, pushing her long hair away from her face.  

 

He felt her nod, but she made no move, for which he was grateful.  This was the most she’d opened up to one of her “lovers” over the past few weeks.  

 

“That was unexpectedly intense,” she whispered, continuing to allow Draco to hold her.    

 

He shifted them so they could face each other on the bed, their heads sharing a plush pillow.  

 

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” he asked, wiping a tear from her flushed face.  “Sometimes it’s easier to confide in a stranger.”

 

At least a minute passed as Draco waited patiently, fingering her uncharacteristically straight, smooth tresses.  

 

“I fell in love with someone who didn’t feel the same way,” she finally said.  

 

Draco felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs.  She _loved_ him?  He’d made the assumption she’d wanted to pin him down in marriage, but as he’d thought about her and their time together, he’d figured out she might eventually have wanted marriage, but what she’d really wanted was to bring him into her world.  And now he was reduced to glamouring his appearance to be close to her.  He could no longer fathom why he’d rejected her offer to meet her parents.  He’d no idea she would call his bluff and leave him, not even looking in his direction each time he’d seen her in the wizarding world.  Blaise had told him rather bluntly that she hadn’t mentioned him once since they’d stopped seeing each other.  

 

“What might you do if this bloke had a change of heart?” 

 

Hermione shook her head.  “He won’t.  He was quite definitive.”

 

“People change,” Draco said softly. 

 

“Maybe,” she sighed, nuzzling into him.

 

:::::::::

 

They had talked until almost four in the morning.  Mostly, Hermione shared her thoughts and dreams and Draco listened, asking her questions about herself.  Eventually, both were lulled into sleep by the white noise of the city.

 

::::::

 

Draco woke to a sharp jab to his neck and a furious witch glaring at him.

 

“Why?” she spat, anger, hurt, and betrayal making her shake slightly. 

 

Her wand dug into his wind pipe, making speech almost impossible.  He held his hands up in a gesture of peace, showing her he meant no harm.  Draco looked at his arm and caught the familiar Dark Mark and knew his glamour had faded during sleep.  She moved back, her wand still trained on him.  

 

“Why would you do this?!” 

 

When she noticed his guilty expression, her wand began to spark.

 

“Speak!” she yelled.

 

“Hermione, please hear me out,” he pleaded.  “I know how you deal with break-ups and I hated the idea of you whoring yourself out—”

 

“What have you done, Malfoy?” she asked, adrenaline coursing through her body.  She felt like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.  

 

“You’ve only been with me,” he admitted, afraid to look at her face.  She was going to absolutely murder him.

 

He waited for one of her legendary hexes, but when that didn’t happen he finally looked at her to find her face hidden by her long hair.  Draco took a chance and scooted over to her, gingerly wrapping his arms around her stiff form.  

 

“I was wrong.  So, so wrong.  I was such a fool.  You know how much I detest surprises and my feelings for you have been the ultimate surprise.  I know that what I did was underhanded, but—”    

 

She pushed him away and he hated the way she looked at him with so much confusion and hurt.

 

“You are the worst kind of man,” Hermione said, her voice low and rough.  “You use women for what you want and when they ask anything from you, you push them away.  I can’t believe a word you’ve said.  You’re a bloody liar.”

 

She slipped on her dress and wandlessly gathered her things.  Hermione finally looked at his face, his eyes pleading with her to hear what he was saying.  She wanted to slap him, then let herself be embraced by his familiar comfort.  

 

“Stay away from me,” she said, rushing out of the room, her feet slapping the parquet floors as she quickly exited the suite.

 

:::::::

 

Draco immersed himself in his work and by the following Friday evening, he needed a drink somewhere that wasn’t his cold, enormous manor.  He found himself in the Leaky Cauldron, nursing his wounds in a dark, neglected corner of the bar.  He ignored the comings and goings of the witches and wizards enjoying their evening until his eyes were drawn to Hermione walking into the Leaky with a tall, muscular wizard.

He motioned to the bartender to get another glass of fire whisky.  

 

“Keep them coming,” he said, his stomach twisting with anxiety as he watched Hermione and that cocksucker sit at a small table.  He didn’t recognize the wizard until the man stood and Draco realized it was Viktor Krum.

 

_Bugger._

 

:::::

 

An hour later, he had indeed kept up with a steady stream of fire whiskies and his imagination was showing him scenarios of Krum and Hermione.  He just knew that famous arse was there to swoop in and take his place in Hermione’s life.  

 

Draco took the last swig from his glass and staggered over to Hermione and Viktor.

 

“This witch” he slurred, sneering at the Bulgarian wizard, “deserves better than someone like you.”

 

Viktor straightened his posture and met Malfoy’s glare.  “You aren’t vanted here, Malfoy.”

 

Draco looked at Hermione, whose eyes were big and worried as she watched the two wizards interact.

 

“I know,” Draco said mournfully.  “I had this amazing woman’s love and I pushed her away.  But she’s different.  I knew it and I was afraid of the unknown.  Now you or some other arse will get to have _my_ future with Hermione.  And that’s entirely my own bloody fault!”

 

“Draco, don’t do this here,” Hermione whispered, noticing the people around them starting to watch their group.

 

The blond rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

 

“I’m so sorry, love.  I would do anything for you to just talk to me for a few minutes.”

 

Hermione thought Draco looked like he was about to cry, no doubt from a combination of liquor and oddly, maybe a bit of heart ache.  He held eye contact with her before turning and making his way to the pub’s exit.

 

“Ve go, _mila_ ,” Viktor said, taking Hermione’s cloak and helping her out of her seat.

 

::::::

 

Draco had spent weeks glamoured as random blokes to avoid Hermione being with anyone else precisely so he wouldn’t have to feel like someone had applied _Sectumsempra_ to his heart.  

 

He walked through the dark, cold Alley, too drunk to Apparate home.  It was almost an hour later that he’d sobered enough to make the trek to Malfoy Manor.  He was shrugging off his cloak when he noticed a small figure sitting on a chair in the entrance hall.  

 

“Hermione?”

 

“Hi,” she said quietly.  “Are you sober enough to talk?”

 

Draco swallowed and nodded.  “Let’s go into the library.”

 

The two moved silently though the mansion and arrived at the library, where Draco lit the enormous fireplace with his wand and motioned for Hermione to take a seat on the leather sofa.  He sat at the opposite end of the sofa, letting himself warm before the flames.

 

“Are you seeing Krum?” 

 

Hermione shook her head.  “We’re old friends.  He’s here for a publicity tour.”

 

“Oh.”

 

The two stared into the fire for a few moments, trying to formulate what they wanted to say.  Finally Hermione broke the silence.

 

“You went to see my parents?”

 

He turned to her, noticing the nervous way she toyed with the bracelet she wore.

 

“I wanted to apologize to them for my absence at dinner that night…”

 

“My parents know we broke up, Draco.”

 

“Your mum mentioned it.  She was very kind, though.”

 

“They’re nice people.”

 

An uncomfortable silence descended as Draco worked up the courage to say what he needed to say to Hermione.

 

“My parents were married after my mother’s sister ran away with a Muggle-born wizard.  Her parents couldn’t risk the social stain, so they made a quick arrangement with my Grandfather Malfoy.  Lucius, it seemed, was already involved with Voldemort and his father thought marriage might be a way to refocus his attention.”

 

Hermione watched Draco with attention.  He almost never mentioned his parents.

 

“My mother was ten years younger than my father.  She’d just turned eighteen when they married.  Her parents forced her to take a vow of monogamy so she wouldn’t embarrass them, but Lucius took no such vow.”

 

Draco conjured a glass and filled it with water, taking a long drink before continuing.

 

“Father continued to live the way he had before he was married.  He spent more time out of the house than he did in it, even when I was a child.  When I did see him, he mostly ignored me.  Children weren’t meant to be seen or heard.”

 

The bedraggled wizard took a deep breath.

 

“You see, I didn’t think that raised as I was, it was ever a good idea for me to get attached to anyone.  As I got older, everyone would tell me how much I resembled my father until it became hard for me to believe that I could be any different.  Not until I started to date you.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

Draco smiled cautiously at her.  

 

“You’re interesting and fun.  You get my sense of humor.  We can talk about everything and you didn’t seem to want anything besides my company.”

 

“You could get all of that from a good friend,” she said, noticing Draco’s nervous posture.

 

“True,” he admitted, “but I don’t find my friends beautiful like I think you are.  I don’t feel jealous when my friends want to date.  And I’ve never felt like I needed anyone in my life like I need you.”

 

He moved closer to her, relieved that she allowed it.

 

“What exactly is it that you want from me?” she asked, still not totally trusting Draco’s intentions.

 

He took her hand, tracing the deep lines in her palm.  

 

“I want you to give me a chance to regain your trust.  I want you to let me get to know you through your friends and your family.  I…maybe eventually,” he paused and swallowed nervously.  “And maybe after all that, if you still want me, you’ll let me be your family, too.”

 

She was quiet for what Draco felt was an eternity before she finally spoke.

 

“Yes,” she said quietly, meeting his silvery stare.  

 

“Yes?” he echoed.  “You’ll give me another chance?”

 

“Yes,” she said with more confidence, a smile finally gracing her full lips. 

 

Draco pulled her closer and kissed her, feeling a sense of belonging he’d missed since she’d left his home all those weeks ago.

 

:::::::::

 

_Twenty Years Later_

 

Elizabeth Narcissa Malfoy dabbed her eyes for the umpteenth time since her mum had asked her if everything was alright.  

 

Hermione felt her heart breaking for her eldest daughter while she stroked her sleek, brown hair and listened to her story.

 

“I’ve spent so much time with Liam this school year and he didn’t even look at me at the Yule Ball!  He ignored me when we got off the train.  I really thought he liked me,” she said with a cry, a new wave of tears falling from her blue eyes.

 

“Oh, Lizzy,” Hermione said, hugging her daughter and pushing her long hair out of her face.  “Love is never easy.  If it’s meant to be with Liam, it will happen.”

 

Hermione saw Draco standing at their daughter’s bedroom door and motioned him in.  He sat down quietly, watching his wife comfort their sensitive sixteen-year-old.  

 

“How can you say that, Mum?” Elizabeth asked.  “Daddy worships the ground you walk on!”

 

Draco moved to the bed to sit beside Lizzy.

 

“When your mum and I had dated for a couple of months, she set up a dinner so I could meet your grandparents.  I stood them up and told her I didn’t want to meet them when she confronted me about it.  Your mum dumped me that very day and it took me months to get her to talk to me again.  If this Liam is worth his salt, he’ll make it up to you.  If he doesn’t, then he’s not the wizard for you.”

 

“You really did that, Daddy?  But you love Grandma and Grandpa,” Lizzy said, turning to look between her parents with some interest.  

 

“I do love your grandparents, but I didn’t understand or appreciate what your mum was offering me.  I was scared,” Draco admitted.

 

“You really dumped Dad?” Lizzy asked incredulously.  

 

“I did.  What your dad did demonstrated that he wasn’t ready for a relationship with me, so I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

 

“Were you really sad, Daddy?” Lizzy asked, turning to her father.

 

“I was.  Your mum wouldn’t give me the time of day.  I stalked her for months until she finally agreed to talk to me,” he said, giving her the abridged version of their story.  “It took me a long time to earn back her trust.”

 

“I never knew any of this,” their daughter murmured.  

 

“People are complicated, my little dove,” Hermione said, hugging Elizabeth’s thin frame into her own.  “Believe your dad when he says if this boy is worth it, he’ll prove himself.”

 

Lizzy nodded, letting her parents’ warmth and love bolster her.  “I’m glad you won Mum back.”

 

Draco chuckled.  “I thank Merlin every day that your mum gave me another chance.  I’d be one sorry wizard without her.”

 

“And you wouldn’t have me, or Lyra, or Estrella.”

 

“Mum gave me my most precious gifts in you three,” Draco said with a smile and kissed Lizzie’s head.

 

Draco and Hermione left their daughter’s room, his arm around her shoulders.  

 

“I really was a dunderhead,” Draco murmured.  

 

Hermione laughed.  “You were.  But, I didn’t cope with things in a healthy way, either.”

 

“No, you really didn’t.”

 

Hermione shook her head.  “You weren’t ready for what I wanted until you wanted it, too.  That’s what I was trying to tell Lizzie.  People do things in their own time.  Doesn’t mean she has to wait around.”

 

Draco hugged Hermione closer.  

 

“I always thought you suspected what I was doing,” Draco admitted.

 

“There was something vaguely familiar about each man, but I honestly thought it was my emotions causing me to see you in them.”

 

“You weren’t yourself,” Draco mused.  “But in an odd sense, I felt I knew you better after those weeks.”

 

“I was very raw, emotionally, that is.  I didn’t plan to see anyone more than once, so I was honest about my feelings.”

 

“Do you ever regret giving me a second chance?”

 

Hermione faced her husband—her confidant, her playmate, her lover, her best friend—and cupped his stubbled jaw.  

 

“Never.  I would do it all again to have you and our life.”  

 

  

 


	4. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet every week. She offers him biscuits and tea and he admires her assets.

Some beautiful children grow into beautiful adults, the world their pearl-producing oyster.  Some children are gangly, or spotty, or their features don’t quite fit their faces, but eventually they grow into their looks.  The young ones who start out cherubic and precious, with their big eyes and rosy cheeks sometimes become adults whose faces lack striking proportions.  Their sweet visages had such promise, but age doesn’t work to their benefit and they grow up to be pale and skinny with sharp noses and thin lips and eyes that are much too large for their faces.  Add a repugnant faded black mark to the arm of such a wizard and you might realize we have been describing Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy.

 

Yet, sometimes these odd-looking people can overcome their quirks with a certain _je ne sais quois_ : an interesting perspective of the world, intelligence, talent, sincerity, or just general niceness.  Well, Draco had intelligence in spades, and he was certainly wealthy, although not as wealthy as his family had been in his youth.  Age had not tempered Draco’s rough edges and without the constant compliments he’d been accustomed to as a child, his self-esteem suffered.

 

“Move it, Ferret,” Ron Weasley said, bumping Draco’s shoulder so hard his butter beer spilled onto his lap.  Ron winked at the barmaid as he paid her to bring a round of drinks to his table.  This third of the Golden Trio had grown into his looks and then some.  He was tall, muscular and had a rakishness witches fell all over themselves for.  As a keeper for the Falmouth Falcons, Draco’s _former_ favorite team, the Weasel had gone from war hero to beloved quidditch player.     

 

Draco took a deep breath and used his wand to dry the liquid staining his pants.

 

“Looks like Malfoy pissed himself!” Seamus said, his boisterous voice carrying across the Leaky Cauldron.

 

The group’s laughter made the blond’s face burn with embarrassment, but he did his best to ignore them.  

 

“What happened?” Pansy asked as she made her way back from the loo and sat down beside Draco.

 

“Weasley just being Weasley,” Draco muttered as he scowled into what remained of his drink.

 

Pansy’s dreamy smile made Draco roll his eyes.  “He visited my flat last Wednesday.”

 

“Did he at least pay you this time?” 

 

Pansy’s dreamy expression evaporated at her friend’s jab.  “He’s not using me.”

 

“Oh, really?  Then why hasn’t he come over to talk to you?”

 

She looked at the bar counter, rubbing a ring of condensation her drink had left on the wood.

 

“I’m going to go,” she said, patting Draco’s hand.  “See you next week?”

 

“Yeah, Pans.”  Draco hesitated and squeezed his friend’s hand.  “Just…be careful with Weasley.  You deserve someone who knows how great you are.”

 

“So do you, Draco.”

 

With a gentle smile for her cantankerous friend, Draco watched Pansy make her way out of the bar.  He ordered a shot of firewhisky to take the edge off his loneliness, the group of Gryffindors he could see in his peripheral vision making his constant self-consciousness more pronounced.  Another firewhisky helped him focus on the busty, creamy skinned brunette nestled between Ginny Potter and Looney Lovegood, her dark eyes meeting his for a second before he let his gaze fall to the drink in his hands.  

 

Hermione Granger should have ended up a bucktoothed, hunchbacked, wild-haired witch who talked to herself as she walked the halls of the Ministry with her head in a tome.  Instead she was bloody gorgeous…and smart…and fucking nice.  The niceness was probably the hardest part for Draco to swallow, as it would be a lot easier for him if she had been nasty like everyone else was.  Every week he met with her in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as per the terms of his parole.  When she’d taken over his case, he’d expected the worst, but Granger was professional and courteous and over time, he found himself looking forward to her warm smiles and open laughs. 

 

Draco shook himself out of his drunken musings and stumbled out of the Leaky towards the Apparition point, unaware of the warm eyes following his departure.  

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A whoop of laughter caused Draco to become distracted and trip on a loose cobblestone.  As if in slow motion, his drunkenness caused his limbs to flail as he fell into a puddle right in the middle of Diagon Alley.  He knew the group of Gryffindors was behind him, laughing at him as he slowly made his way to his feet.  Steady, warm hands helped him up.

 

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Hermione asked as he swerved on his feet.  

 

Draco batted her hands away, even as he tried his damndest to get a move on.  

 

“Fuck off, Granger,” Draco slurred as finally got to his destination a few steps from the humiliating scene of his fall, drew his wand, and Apparated away.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Usually, Draco would listen to Hermione chatter for a few minutes before she updated his file.  She would offer him tea and homemade biscuits.   The easy way she would speak to him made the visits something he found himself looking forward to. 

 

“Do you have your timesheet from St. Mungo’s?”

 

Draco handed her the parchment and she added it to his file.

 

“You’re free to go,” she said, not looking up from her writing.  

 

“No tea?” Draco asked.

 

“Not today, Malfoy.  I’ve got work to do.  Good day.”

 

He stood, hoping she might offer him a smile or a kind word, but she continued to ignore him as her quill scratched against parchment.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

       

“She hates me,” Draco said to Pansy as they sipped butter beer and nibbled on chips.

 

“What did you do?” Pansy asked, knowing full well her friend could be ridiculously rude.

 

“I was pissed…I fell and Granger tried to help me.  I told her to fuck off.”

 

“Gods, Draco!  She’s actually nice to you and even I can admit she’s bloody beautiful and you told her to fuck off?  You should have asked her to help you home, you idiot.”

 

“She’s only nice to me because she’s nice to everyone.”

 

Pansy snorted.  “Ron thinks she has a bit of a thing for you.”

 

His big grey eyes almost popped out of his head.  

 

“Fuuuuccckkk,” he drawled with mounting horror.  “I told her to fuck off.”

 

“I suppose now you’ll have to figure out how to get back in her good graces.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

  
“White robes are all the rage in Paris,” Narcissa assured her son.  

 

Draco looked at himself in the mirror and thought he looked like a Muggle vicar or a ghost in a white sheet.  

 

“You don’t think they wash me out?”

 

“No, not at all.  They’re very striking,” she assured him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  “Is there some reason you’re dressing up today?  Perhaps a witch?”

 

“Would you be very upset if the Malfoy bloodlines deviated?”

 

“No!” an exuberant Narcissa yelped.  “Who is she, my son?”

 

For Narcissa had tried in vain to set up her beloved son with many eligible young witches, but word eventually came back to her that Draco was obnoxious and could be odd.  She was aware her son was not suave and physically imposing like her Lucius, but he was smart and loveable in his own way.  She would welcome home any witch who would help her boy be whole again.

 

“Well…it’s…are you familiar with Hermione Granger?” he finally got out.

 

Hermione Granger, _the_ most eligible young witch in the wizarding world?  The witch who had been tortured in their familial home?  The girl her son had teased mercilessly as a boy?  Oh, her poor Draco!  She could only hope the Granger girl would let him down gently.

 

“Yes, I remember Miss Granger,” Narcissa said with a nod.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Sniggers followed Draco as he made his way to Hermione’s office for his weekly parole meeting.  He’d worn the white robes his mother insisted were terribly fashionable, but he couldn’t help but feel the laughter was directed at him.

 

“Looks like he’s wearing wedding robes.”

 

“…albino peacock…”

 

“It’s Vicar Malfoy!”

 

Well, being a trendsetter sometimes began with teasing, but eventually Draco knew everyone would be wearing the white robes.  With a knock on her door, Draco let himself into Hermione’s office.

 

“Hello,” she said, doing a double-take at his very white, very bright robes.  “Is this your St. Mungo’s uniform?” 

 

“What?  No.  White robes are all the rage in Paris,” he said, quoting his mother.

 

“Hmm.  May I make a slight adjustment?” she asked, pointing her wand at his person.

 

With a wave of her wand, his white robes became a light shade of natural linen.  

 

“That color compliments your coloring a bit more.  There’s a mirror behind my door if you’d like to take a look.”

 

He stood and looked at himself briefly before turning back to her.  She wore her customary cardigan twin set, in a light shade of periwinkle, with a strand of pearls nestled between her large breasts.  Hermione’s chestnut curls were pinned into an up-do with tendrils escaping around her face.  Her light pink lips began to purse in discomfort the longer he looked at her.

 

“Shall we begin?” Hermione finally asked, annoyed at how long it took Draco’s eyes to finally come to rest on her own.

 

“Go on,” he said, his imperious voice trying to hide his embarrassment at being caught studying her.  

 

She took a deep breath and opened his file.  “Your probation will be over next month and I will be speaking to your supervisor at St. Mungo’s to assure you’ve met the volunteer hours set forth by the Wizengamot.  When your probation is finished, the ban on travel you have placed on you will be lifted as well.  Do you have any questions?”

 

He did in fact have a burning question, but unrelated to his probation.  “Why haven’t you offered me tea?”

 

“Questions about your probation,” she clarified.

 

“No.  No questions about that,” he said.  “But you always offer me tea and your ugly little biscuits.”

 

Hermione was no fool.  She knew Draco was both physically and socially awkward and his work for Voldemort had made him bitter as he grew into adulthood.  He used his insolent words to cover up the fact that he had yet to grow comfortable in his own skin.  Oddly, she kind of liked this Draco Malfoy, who knew the world didn’t revolve around him.  He looked at her like she was Aphrodite herself as he not-so-covertly roamed her body with his large, grey eyes.  Most men she knew wanted to be worshipped, but she had a feeling if something were to happen with Draco, he would be the one doing the worshipping.  And she relished the thought of being the center of someone’s attention.  But the fact remained that he needed to grovel a bit before she let her light shine on the blond.

 

“I’ve run out of tea,” she said with a shrug.

 

“Really?” he asked skeptically.  

 

“Yes,” she said with a nod.  “You know, you’re not the only parolee I tend to.”

 

“I know that,” he said, his voice surly.  

 

Pansy’s words floated through his mind, _she has a bit of a thing for you_ …    

 

“I think that’s it for today—“

 

“I happen to know where the best tea in England is made.  Perhaps you’d like to indulge if you’ve yet to take lunch?”

 

Well, this was unexpected!  It took Hermione a moment realize he’d asked her out for lunch.  For tea, she supposed, not exactly lunch. 

 

“I need to eat, too.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Obviously.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

He Apparated them to the small breakfast nook off the manor’s huge kitchen. 

 

“Are we at Malfoy Manor?”

 

Draco nodded as a spry elf hastily made her way to the couple.  

 

“Master Draco, sir, what can Jammie get for you and the young miss?”

 

“A pot of the cream Earl Grey and an assortment of sandwiches, please.”

 

Having only been in the house as a hostage, she was shocked by how charming the family’s eating area was.  The limestone walls were muted beige and light green and yellow striped curtains framed a sunny window that overlooked a large vegetable garden.  The circular wooden table was smooth from years of use and the four chairs surrounding the table were padded and covered with the same fabric as the drapes.

 

Draco pulled out a chair and helped guide her into her seat.  His hand was warm on her arm and she noticed he smelled like fresh laundry.  She was shocked when he began to move away and his hand grazed her left breast.  The frozen look on his face alerted her to the fact that he had mistakenly rubbed against her chest.  She wondered just how many breasts he had touched in his day and guessed not very many.

 

So she laughed, because unfortunately this happened to her quite frequently.

 

“It’s alright, Malfoy.  Happens all the time.”

 

Luckily, Jammie and another elf came in bearing a tray with their lunch and Hermione was spared from the awkward conversation that had ensued from her admission to Draco.  She served herself a cup of the fragrant tea, adding cream and two cubes of sugar.

 

“This looks decadent, Malfoy.  It was a kind gesture to offer me lunch.”

 

After his totally accidental touch, Draco could only nod and attempt to smile at her.

 

“Well, you have been feeding me biscuits and tea for years.  Isn’t it expensive to offer food and drink to every one of your parolees?”

 

“Not really.  Most of them decline.  Agamemnon Nott claims I’m trying to poison former Death Eaters.”

 

“He’s not exactly a genius.”

 

Hermione laughed.  “You speak the truth.  The only other people who accept my hospitality are Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode, and Reinhart Parkinson.”

 

“Pansy’s older brother?  But he wasn’t involved in the war.”

 

“No, he’s on parole for something else.”

 

“I didn’t hear anything about this from Pansy.”

 

Draco’s interest was piqued.  

 

“It’s not really polite talk for a meal,” Hermione said, taking a bite of her sandwich.  “Mmm, is this salmon mousse?”

 

“Is his sentence public record?”

 

Hermione gave him a disapproving look.  “Draco.”

 

He felt warmed by her saying his given name, even if she did say it like old McGonagall.

 

“I won’t tell anyone.  Honestly, _who_ would I tell?  Pansy?  She probably already knows.”

 

“Fine,” Hermione sighed.  “He was stunning witches in secluded areas and…um…weeing on them.”

 

Draco burst out laughing.  “ _Weeing_ on them?  Pissing?  Oh, good Merlin!”

 

Hermione had to smirk as Draco laughed so hard he was beginning to tear up.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him laugh like this and it transformed him.  He was beautiful when he smiled, when he was happy.  

 

“Oh, gods,” Draco gasped, hitting the table to punctuate his mirth.  “What a kinky thing to do!”

 

Hermione watched Draco’s laughter finally ease up so he was composed enough to take a sip of his tea.

 

“Oh, Granger, you’re delightful.  I’m sorry I didn’t have you over for tea sooner.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hermione smiled at the old Healer, her final meeting with the witch a result of the conclusion of Malfoy’s probation.  

 

“I spoke with some of my colleagues about employing Mr. Malfoy, but they agreed he didn’t have the temperament to work with patients.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “He’s quite brilliant with potions.  Who does the hospital’s brewing?”

 

The Healer looked at Hermione intently.  “We have a few potioneers.  Hmm…I think that might be an excellent place for him.  I’ll send him an owl.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Alright, Draco, what’s the problem now?” Pansy asked in irritation.  They’d met up for their weekly drink at the Leaky and she’d found him scowling into his glass.

 

“Tomorrow’s my last meeting with Granger,” he muttered.

 

“So?  Ask her out.”

 

Turning his irritation on Pansy, he smirked unkindly.  “Has the Weasel taken you home to meet his frumpy mum yet?”

 

“Don’t be an arse,” she hissed, pinching his side and smirking when he yelped.

 

Draco sighed and seemed to deflate.  “It was kind of nice to have somewhere to work and someone to visit with the past few years.”

 

“I thought Lucius said you could work for him.”

 

“He’s such a todger,” Draco whined.

 

Pansy snorted.  “Did you just call your dad a todger?  It might not be so bad to learn the family business.”

 

Draco shook his head.  “He’d have me fetching him tea and running around like a damn house-elf.  Besides, the business practically runs itself.”

 

“But really, you should ask Granger out.  Now that you’re not her client, she could probably go out with you.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Instead of the suave speech he’d rehearsed in the bathroom mirror, where he imagined taking Hermione’s hand and asking her to join him for an intimate dinner, he arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement office to utter chaos.  He made his way to Hermione’s office to find her strapping on a leathery protection robe and pulling her long hair into a braid.

 

“There’s been an escape from Azkaban.  I’ll complete your paperwork and send it to you, okay?”

 

Draco nodded, but just then a tall, handsome wizard looked into the office.  “You ready, Hermione?”

 

“Yes,” she said, giving one last glance to Draco before making her way out of the office.

 

In the years he’d been coming to the MLE office, he’d never seen the Aurors gearing up for battle quite like this.  He meandered through the office towards the exit.

 

“Do you know what all the fuss was about?” he asked a pudgy middle-aged witch with extremely pink lips.

 

The woman, clearly bursting to gossip with just about anyone, smiled conspiratorially at Draco.

 

“The Carrows share a cell in Azkaban and,” she said, lowering her voice, “Amycus impregnated Alecto!”

 

Unfortunately, when Snake Face lived at Malfoy Manor, Draco had seen some very questionable behavior between the siblings.  Nevertheless, he shuddered at the images of those two wrapped around each other.

 

The woman went on.  “Alecto was going to be moved to another section of the prison when they were somehow able to make a break for it.”

 

Before Draco could respond to the gleeful secretary, she’d flitted off to a group that had just come into the office and he made his way home.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hermione sent the paperwork a few days later, as promised.  It felt impersonal and Draco found himself disappointed by the lack of a note.  But another owl bringing an offer of employment made up some of that disappointment.  Draco had been asked to join the hospital’s potions brewers as soon as possible since one of their potioneers had just gone on maternity leave.

 

“What has you smiling, my son?” Narcissa asked.

 

He passed her the letter from the hospital.  “I know it’s not the kind of work you and Father expect of me—“

 

“Draco, this is wonderful!  Your N.E.W.T. scores in potions were so high, I’m not surprised the hospital offered you a job.”

 

He relaxed slightly at his mother’s excitement.  “It’s just that…well…I had this idea about, uh….”

 

“Is this about Miss Granger?”

 

Draco nodded.  “I don’t have a good reason to contact her.  My probation is complete.”

 

“Perhaps she’d like to know about your job offer?”

 

He shrugged.  “Maybe.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The Malfoys were so pleased their son had been offered a job at St. Mungo’s, they decided to celebrate at _Muy Bien_ , a Spanish bistro in a newly revamped area of Diagon Alley.  Draco and Lucius wore the traditional Malfoy black, while Narcissa wore Slytherin green set of dress robes.  Draco had always dressed like this, even as a small child, and was used to seeing his family dressed this way.  It was “befitting of their station”, as the elder Malfoys liked to say.  Mother said it was disrespectful to dress as if they had less means than they did.  

 

However, as soon as Draco walked into the cheerful restaurant behind his parents, he instantly felt out of place.  Most of the diners were couples enjoying a romantic meal.  He felt like a child pretending to be a man.  His gaze zeroed in on a beautiful brunette sitting alone at the bar.  Narcissa noticed her son staring at the witch.

 

“Invite her to join us, Draco,” his mother murmured.

 

He hesitated for a moment and Lucius nodded at him.  Draco made his way to the bar.

 

“Eh…hello,” he said, tapping her shoulder.

 

Hermione whipped her head towards him.  “Oh, hello, Malfoy.”  She looked slightly surprised to see him, but offered him a friendly smile.  

 

“Would you like to join us?” he pressed on.  “We’re having a bit of a celebration.  If you’re not on a date or something.”

 

“I’m not here with anyone.  I just wanted to get out of my flat.”

 

“Come on, then,” he said, motioning to his parents seated at a table for four across the restaurant.  

 

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Draco, finally remembering his manners, pulled out Hermione’s chair.  She smoothed her skirt as she sat, smiling shyly at the Malfoys.  

 

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Granger.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “It’s my pleasure.  What’s the celebration?”

 

Lucius motioned for Draco to share.  

 

“Well, St. Mungo’s offered me a job.  In the Potions Lab,” he clarified.    

 

Hermione jumped out of her seat and embraced Draco.  He awkwardly patted her back, but couldn’t keep a joyous grin off his face.  Narcissa felt a knot of worry begin to loosen.  She had started to consider that her son wasn’t going to find companionship or might have to settle for someone who might want him for the wrong reasons.  Her excellent instincts told her the young Miss Granger not only appreciated Draco for what he was, but that she might be someone to temper his idiosyncrasies.  

 

Hermione finally let Draco out of her hug and sat down, a proud expression on her face.

 

Lucius turned to Hermione.  “Draco always had a talent for potions.  He’s been brewing our household potions since he was a second year.”

 

“It was how Draco earned his pocket knuts at Hogwarts,” Narcissa added.  

 

“Tell us about yourself,” Lucius asked Hermione.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hermione was deep in conversation with Draco when Narcissa placed a hand on her son’s arm.  

 

“Father and I are going to head home.  You two should order dessert,” the older witch encouraged.  “Hermione, it was a pleasure getting to know you better.”

 

“Thank you for the lovely evening,” Hermione said graciously.  

 

The Malfoys said their goodbyes and left the two sitting in the restaurant.

 

Hermione looked at her watch and was amazed it was just after eleven.  She hadn’t enjoyed an evening of stimulating, sincere conversation with a wizard in too long.  

 

“Would you like to share something?  If you don’t need to go,” Draco added.  

 

“Sure.”  

 

Hermione smiled at Draco, the wine they’d enjoyed making her feel relaxed and happy.

 

Draco motioned the waiter over and murmured something to him that Hermione didn’t catch.  He gave her a lopsided smile after the server walked away, his own alcohol consumption causing him to be more open than usual.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

 

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Hermione countered.  

 

“According to the gossip, I’m rude and inappropriate.”

 

She chuckled.  “So, have you told other witches to _fuck off_?”

 

Draco groaned and put his head on the table.  “No, just you.”

 

The waiter took that moment to place a plate in front of Hermione.  

 

“Your _gianduja_ ,” he said and walked away.

 

Hermione tugged his hair.  “Tell me what this is.”

 

Although Draco knew Hermione was trying to get his attention, he found his body tingling from her touch.

 

“It’s a hazelnut and chocolate tart.”

 

“May I?” she asked.

 

Draco watched her take a piece on her fork and slide it into her mouth.  

 

“Mmm,” she hummed.  

 

He watched her swallow and realized, with horror, that he had an erection.

 

“Have some,” she said, “It’s delicious.”

 

“Uh, no, please go ahead.  You seem to be enjoying it.”

 

She laughed and put another bite in her mouth, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the decadent tart.  

 

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  He was imagining eating chocolate off her naked body with her making the same intimate noises as his lips and tongue trailed over her smooth skin.

 

Hermione had finished her third bite when she realized Draco was staring at her, not saying anything.  She wiped her napkin against her mouth, which broke his trance.

 

“So, why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asked again.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Let’s see:  I talk too much, I’m a tease, I’m a prude, I’m boring, I work too much…do you want me to go on?”

 

“Do blokes actually say these things to you?”

 

Hermione shrugged.  “Sometimes, yeah.  I don’t want to be used, so I put my true self out there.  If men don’t like the real me, so be it.”

 

“Exactly!  It’s like, I’m rich as fuck, but I’m also a bit of a wanker, right?”  

 

Hermione smirked, but nodded her head for him to continue.

 

“So, I just do and say what I want.  All the witches I don’t appeal to disappear, which is good because I have no tolerance for their shite.  Mum’s a bit embarrassed, since she set me up with several of her friends’ daughters, but I don’t care.  I’m not going to be forced into situations not of my choosing ever again.”

 

Hermione nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from.  Draco Malfoy was young and awkward, but she could see him in her mind’s eye changing into someone challenging and honest, sometimes brutally so.  She liked that he hadn’t settled for what was expected of him, choosing to forge his own path.

 

“Would you like to come back to my flat for a cuppa?”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Draco looked about as they approached her building, keeping his wand in hand as they meandered through the derelict surroundings.

 

“You live here?” he asked incredulously.

 

“It’s what I can afford.”

 

“But, you’re _you_.  I mean, I thought I heard your parents were healers.  Are you poor?”

 

She wasn’t sure how to respond to him.  She supposed she was “poor”.

 

“Yes, I’m still me,” she laughed.  “I’m still a Muggle-born with no family connections, Malfoy.  Being a war heroine doesn’t pay your rent.”

 

“You shouldn’t live here,” he said disapprovingly.  

“Why not?”  

 

She walked up to the door of a squat brick building and took out a key, opening the heavy door.

 

“It’s not appropriate for you.  You’re…not meant for this.”

 

Draco followed her through a dingy hall and up a stairwell at the back of the building.  

 

“And what is it that I’m meant for, Oh-Great-And-All-Seeing-Malfoy?”

 

They arrived at what he assumed was her flat,  3F, and he entered, first noticing the smallness of the room, then seeing how absolutely hard she had tried to make the space cozy and clean.  He really hated that she, this gorgeous, intelligent witch, had to slum it here.  

 

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

 

She bustled about the little kitchenette.  “Since I left Hogwarts.”

 

“You didn’t live with Potty or the Weasel family?”

 

Hermione shook her head.  “We all needed space from each other, although I do love them dearly.”

 

“Fair enough,” he murmured.

 

He moved so she could sit next to him on the loveseat, the only place to sit in the minuscule space.  He watched her relax into the squishy cushion and sigh.

 

“Long day?”

 

“Yes, but it was a good day.  I enjoyed dinner with your family.”

 

Draco took a sip of the hot tea and watched Hermione stretch her back, which caused her breasts to strain against her twinset.  

 

“Why do you stare at me like that?”

 

Draco, king of ill-timed questions, snapped his eyes up to hers.  What he found there wasn’t something he’d seen before in a witch.  Her gaze was sincere, but forthright, and perhaps the slightest bit mischievous.  He kept eye contact with her and licked his lips nervously.

 

He meant to say, “I find you attractive.”  What he actually said was slightly different.

 

“I want to see your tits.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she burst into giggles.  “Wh—What?!”

 

Well, she hadn’t slapped him and her mirth was giving him a strange kind of confidence.  

 

“I said I’d like to see your tits.”

 

Hermione put her cup on the coffee table and turned to Draco.  The pink stain on her cheeks and the way she adjusted her necklace didn’t escape his notice.  

 

“Do you remember when we talked about how to interact with people at St. Mungo’s?” 

 

Draco looked at her, nonplussed.  “Uh…yes?”

 

“Can you remind me of those rules?”

 

Before he’d been allowed to begin his work at the hospital, Hermione had instructed him on proper business protocol.  He hadn’t thought it necessary, but when he did need something from someone at the hospital, whether a healer or a patient, her rules always seemed to help.  Otherwise he found himself irritated by how people responded to him.

 

“Be specific.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “Yes.  While your request was quite specific, I’m not sure what’s in it for me.”

 

“Make your gain their gain.”

 

“Exactly.  Tell me what I might feel under your watchful eyes.”  Hermione gingerly took off her pearl necklace and put it beside her cup on the table.

 

Draco couldn’t help it and gently ran a finger along her cashmere sweater.  “When you let me look at you, you’ll feel like the most beautiful witch in the world.”

 

“That’s good,” she whispered, tingling under his soft touch to her arm.  “What’s next?”

 

“Make yourself invaluable.”

 

“How would you do that?”

 

“If I touched you, it would feel better than anything else.”

 

“What would you do if I said no to your request?”

 

Draco’s slow caress from her wrist to her elbow stopped.  

 

“I would be persistent.”

 

“Right.”

 

When he leaned in, Hermione could feel his warm breath against her cheek.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered into her ear.  

 

She turned and their noses bumped.

 

“I know,” she murmured, understanding how much he had to trust her to admit it.  However, that hardly mattered as she felt herself turn to jelly under his lustful watch.  “Kiss me.”

 

And like the man himself, the kiss was a bit rough around the edges, with Draco trying to dominate the kiss with his insistent lips and and aggressive tongue.  With someone else, she might not have enjoyed it, but his interest was a major turn-on.  She suddenly had an image of him tonguing between her legs the way he was kissing her and Hermione knew it would not be long at all until she would show him her “tits”.

 

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**Six Months Later**

 

He was still awkward, but Draco had other qualities that made him appealing: his intelligence, his loyalty, his quirky, often inappropriate, sense of humor, and the way he treated his girlfriend like gold.  Yet, even with these excellent traits, Hermione sometimes found herself beyond irritated with Draco.

 

“I’m sorry you don’t like my flat, but if you find it so offensive, you’re welcome to leave.”

 

“Granger, last week there were dirty shorts in the entrance hall and the whole building smelled like boiled cabbage!”

 

“I save as much as I can, but it will be a couple of years until I can get into my own place.”

 

“Move to the manor.”

 

“I can’t do that!  Your parents would never stand for it, Draco.”  She kicked off her heels and sat on the little loveseat, annoyed at his inane idea.

 

He sat right next to her, taking up most of her space and forcing her to lean against him.  

 

“What if we had a date for you to move in?  Say, right after the wedding?”

 

“Ron and Pansy’s wedding?”

 

“Merlin, Granger, not that disaster!  _Our_ wedding.”

 

Her eyes widened in understanding.  “Our wedding?  When?”

 

“Soon as possible.  I’d much prefer to shag you in my fresh-smelling house.”

 

“This isn’t one of your weird jokes, is it, Malfoy?”

 

He rolled his eyes at her and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small velvet bag.  He took out the most exquisite ring she’d ever seen: platinum with a three-carat peacock sapphire surrounded by diamonds.  It glinted a rich aquamarine with rays of green, blue, and even purple.

 

“It’s not a joke, beautiful.”

 

“Then yes, I would rather like to move into your manor as soon as possible,” Hermione said joyously as they beamed smiles at each other.

 

Hermione threw her arms around him and Draco kissed her, taking the opportunity to cup her breast and pinch her nipple.  

 

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**Three Months Later**

 

_Ron and Pansy’s Wedding_

 

“How’s life in ‘the manor’?” Harry asked, using his snootiest voice.

 

“It’s just lovely,” Hermione said with a chuckle.  

 

Harry actually found Draco hilarious, often crying with mirth when Malfoy was at his most irritating.  What he liked about Draco for Hermione was his unabashed adoration for the witch.  He matched her intellectually as well, which was a feat in itself.  

 

Draco walked up to the friends and patted his wife’s arse.  

 

“Malfoy!” Hermione said, swatting his hand away.  

 

“Yes, Malfoy?” Draco said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.  

 

Harry shook his head and laughed.  “Ginny would hex my fingers off if I did that in public.”

 

Draco smirked.  “Don’t know what to tell you, Potter.”

 

Hermione led Draco back to their table and he pulled her onto his lap.  

 

“Can we go home now?” he whispered into her neck.  “I hate these things.”

 

“I know, luv.  Just let them cut the cake and we’ll slip out.”

 

“Our wedding was better.”

 

“That’s not nice!”

 

“I know, but it’s still true.”

 

“Yes, but some things don’t need to be said out loud.”

 

He kissed her neck and nuzzled her lightly.  

 

“You have the most gorgeous tits in the room.”

 

She laughed, but knew sometimes his words came out differently than he intended.  “I love you, too, Draco.”

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Father Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy, in the most conniving way, forces his son to admit his feelings for Hermione.

 

 

 

“Miss Granger, my house elf is in need of assistance and she will not tell me what I can do to help her,” Lucius Malfoy said from Hermione’s office door.

 

As the Head of the Magical Creatures Division, Hermione was obligated to protect the welfare of elves, centaurs, giants, and even goblins.  But, Lucius Malfoy’s appraising smirk and strapping body blocking her doorway made her feel uncomfortable.

 

She gave him her most professional nod.  “I’ll have my best officer come to the elf’s aid, sir.  Let me walk you to the office secretary and she can help you schedule an appointment.”

 

“Oh, no, Miss Granger, that won’t do.  I only want the best, and you’re it.” 

 

She sighed inwardly, but looked at him in question.  “What is it you think I’d be able to do for your elf, Mr. Malfoy?”

 

“Well, she’s _enceinte_ , you see.  She doesn’t want to serve my son or I, but she punishes herself for not tending to her duties.  I’ve tried to talk to her about changing her work schedule, but she goes invisible with mortification.  Such a sad situation,” he said with a regretful shake of his head. 

 

“I have meetings all afternoon, but if you’re amenable, I can come by this evening about six.”  

 

The big, blonde man gave her a charming, genuine grin.  “My gratitude to you, Miss Granger.  I will see you then.”

 

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“I can’t thank you enough, Miss Granger.  It would be my utter pleasure to have you stay for dinner.”

 

Mr. Malfoy was standing close enough that Hermione could smell his sandalwood cologne.  His wife had died five years before and he had mourned her loss, but Hermione was afraid he was focusing on her as a new love interest.  As he’d guided her through the mansion, he’d taken her arm and told her details about the home.  It was much too intimate for a Ministry appointment.

 

“Thank you, sir, but that’s not necessary.”  Hermione smoothed her royal blue shift dress and pushed a wayward curl behind her ear.  Fiery opal studs glinted in her lobes.

 

“I understand, Miss Granger.  You don’t want to spend your evening with an old widower, let alone an ex-Death Eater.”

 

Humiliation burned hot in her cheeks as she realized his offer might be to soothe his loneliness, rather than a way to get into her knickers.

 

“That’s not it at all, Mr. Malfoy.  I’d never want you to trouble yourself.  If the offer still stands, I’d be delighted to join you for dinner.”

 

“Excellent.  Please call me Lucius.  May I call you by your given name?”

 

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Dinner was delectable and the cozy dining room where they ate was dimly lit with candles and decorated with flowers.  It was _romantic_.  Lucius was an excellent conversationalist, asking about Hermione’s political views, her hobbies, her family, and her hopes for the future.  Hermione learned about his philanthropic efforts, his interest in Muggle global politics, and his burgeoning efforts to learn to bake, which she found exceedingly charming.

 

At the end of the meal, Lucius walked her to the Floo and found his son brushing soot off his cloak.

 

“Good evening, Draco.  If you would give me a moment, I would like to say good night to Hermione.”

 

Glaring daggers at the two, Draco pushed past them, hitting his father’s shoulder.  

 

“Please don’t let my son’s rudeness ruin the lovely evening we’ve shared.  Perhaps you’d like to join me for a drink this Friday after work?”

 

He _was_ hitting on her.  _Oh, Merlin._        

 

Hermione had been dating someone, but he was aloof.  That someone knew if word got out he was seeing Hermione Granger, people would expect wedding bells in the future.  She was the type of witch a man made his life with, not the kind of girl you’d fuck and end things with when the initial interest wore off.  He saw Hermione several times a week, but whenever she hinted at developing a deeper relationship, he would make excuses as to why they needed to keep things as they were.

 

“Yes,” she said shyly.  “Owl me the details.”

 

Lucius took her hand and pressed a slow, seductive kiss to her open palm.  

 

“Good night, Hermione.”

 

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“Hermione Granger, Father?” Draco all but shouted from the manor’s library entrance.

 

“I’m single, she’s single.  I’m quite taken by her.  I enjoyed myself immensely this evening.”

 

Draco found the bottle of cognac his father had opened and poured himself a generous serving.  

 

“She’s young enough to be your daughter,” Draco said with disdain.  

 

“Yes, I suppose she is, but wizards and witches live a long time.  It would hardly be noticeable in a few years.”

 

“She’s Muggle-born,” Draco taunted.

 

Lucius shook his head at his son, disappointment evident.  “I’m sorry you still harbor those prejudices.  Witches like Hermione are proof positive that blood does not matter.  You may see yourself out.”

 

With that dismissal, Draco did something he hadn’t done in many years.  He stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.  His father didn’t yet know it, but he was making a terrible mistake.

 

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As she dressed for her evening with Lucius Malfoy, Hermione found herself brushing tears from her cheeks.  She actually found Lucius to be quite the catch, just not for her.  There was someone she desperately wished wanted to take her for a drink after work, but that wizard came and went into her life as he pleased.  Why did she let that bloody idiot treat her like shit?  She took a deep breath and considered her reasons for accepting Lucius Malfoy’s invitation.  It was time to get back on the horse, so to speak.  Things between her and her flighty lover were never going to progress to the place she wanted.

 

She wore a crème colored scoop neck dress with her hair smoothed into large waves.  Dark pink lipstick made her full lips stand out in her pale face.  A magenta silk wrap protected her shoulders against the October chill.  Giving herself one last look in the mirror, she thought she looked sophisticated, yet daring.  

 

“You can do this,” she said aloud to her reflection.  “It’s not like you’re going to marry the man.  It’s just a drink.”

 

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“Another martini, Hermione?” 

 

“Yes, please.”  

 

She watched Lucius summon a waiter and place another order for drinks.  Gods, did he just tell the wizard to “keep them coming”?

 

After work, Hermione had rushed home to change and hadn’t eaten anything for supper.  The first martini had her feeling pleasantly warm and amenable to suggestion.  Lucius had an arm slung behind her chair and they were quite close to each other.  

 

“Hermione, I have to ask.  Why aren’t you involved in a relationship?  A witch like you, well, I would think the wizards would be blasting down your door.”

 

She looked down at the table, then back up at his face.  

 

“I suppose I haven’t found the right wizard yet.”

 

Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear.  “What do you look for in a wizard?”

 

From behind her, a deep voice said, “Father.  May I have a word with you?”

 

Hermione blanched at Draco Malfoy’s interuption.  He was rigid with icy cold anger, his jaw clenched and his eyes trained on the man he looked so much like.  

 

“Is something wrong?” Lucius asked his son.

 

“Please excuse us, Granger,” Draco said, hauling his father up by the arm and leading him to the back of the bar.

 

_Oh, bugger this._

 

Hermione grabbed her purse and shawl and fled.

 

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“Can you just leave her alone?  Date anyone else in the world, but not Granger!”

 

“Why, Draco?  Do you hate Hermione so much you want me to have nothing to do with her?”

 

Draco felt like his father was looking through him, reading his body language and, yes, mocking him!

 

“I don’t hate her.  Look, just trust me on this.  Please.”

 

Lucius looked at his table to find it empty.  “It appears our date is over, anyway,” he said sharply and walked away, his black robes billowing behind him.  

 

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Hermione sat in bed watching the telly, eating chocolate hazelnut ice cream.  What a disaster that date had been!  She reminded herself that nothing good would come of involving herself with the Malfoys.  Perhaps she would try out one of the men her parents continuously told her about.  Her mother would be thrilled to match-make for her daughter.

 

An owl tapped at her window, bearing a small package for her.  Inside she found an antique brooch.  If she wasn’t mistaken, it was platinum and pink diamonds.  She unfolded a short note inside the box.

 

_H-_

_Wear this next time I see you._

_Dinner in Muggle London, Sunday night?_

_-L_

 

There wouldn’t be a next time.  She felt relief in acknowledging to herself that she didn’t want to date Lucius Malfoy, no matter how handsome, cultured, and smart he was.  She’d gather the courage to talk to the erratic man she craved and create closure with him.  It was time to move on.

 

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The next morning Hermione came to with arms wrapped around her waist and her head buried in a hard chest.  _Why, oh, why was he here?_   She’d hoped to have the weekend to build her courage up to end things once and for all.  _Damn it_ , she knew she should have closed her Floo and changed the wards on her flat!

 

She made to move away from him, but he only held her tighter.  

 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.

 

“No.  Please let go of me.”  She tried to sound definitive, but she was so very sad.  In her mind, she had thought something would come of this liaison.

 

He unhanded her and flopped onto his back.  Draco scrubbed his face for a second before looking at her.  She already had wet eyes.

 

“My father?  Way to stab me in the back, Granger.”

 

“I don’t want to date your father, Draco!  He’s got some very good qualities, but it would be too weird.  Look, there’s never a good time to do this, but I think this thing between us has run its course.  You come over whenever you want, get what you want, and leave.  It’s not enough for me.”

 

“It’s not like that, Hermione,” he said quietly.

 

“Then what is it like?  Muggles have a term for what we are: fuck buddies.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes at her.  “Come on!  Every time I finish a mission, I come straight to you.  Sometimes I get called away at a moment’s notice, so we don’t see each other for a few days, but you know my work as an Auror is confidential. It could put you in danger if I told you anything.  Merlin’s balls, I thought you knew all this!”

 

“Why would I know any of that, Draco?  You don’t tell me anything!”

 

“We talk all the time.  I know more about you than I do about anyone else.”

 

“Well, if you know me so well, you’d know it sucks to be your dirty little secret.  Obviously, your own father didn’t know about this thing,” she said gesturing between the two of them, “or he wouldn’t have asked me out.  If you’d had intentions with me, you’d have made them clear by now.”

 

He didn’t know what to say to that.  The past few days had shocked him, to say the least.  He’d truly had no idea Hermione was so unhappy with the direction of their relationship.  To Draco, they’d spent the past few months getting to know each other.  But apparently to Hermione, the lack of formal dating had worn on her confidence in their relationship.  She didn’t even use the word “relationship” to describe what they had.

 

“Do you really want this to end?  What you’ve seen as me hiding you away has been a different experience for me.  No one has ever let me see them as honestly as you have.  I like that you’ve let me into your world.”

 

“But you haven’t let me into yours, Draco,” she said, her voice close to breaking.  “I gave you so many opportunities to meet my parents and my friends and you’ve made excuses as to why you can’t.  I might not want to date Lucius, but he showed me what I was missing.  I’m going into the shower and when I get out, I want you gone.”

 

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After a good cry in the shower, Hermione dressed and made her way to her little kitchen to find Draco sitting at the table, drinking coffee.  

 

“Draco—“ she began to say, but he cut her off.

 

“Just hear me out.  Please.”

 

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from him.  He held his cup in two hands and looked at the black liquid before he began.

 

“When my mother died, my father was very depressed.  He was into his cups nightly and usually fairly incoherent.  One evening, I was helping him into bed when he told me what he regretted most: all the times he ignored my mother in favor of work or socializing, then later putting her welfare below the orders of the Dark Lord.  He said she was the most beautiful woman in the world to him and he wished he’d made love to her more often.  I promised myself if I ever met anyone I felt that way about, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my father did.  Will you do something for me?”

 

“What?”

 

Draco took her hand.  “Come to the manor.  I’d like to introduce you to my father as my girlfriend.”

 

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Draco knocked on the door to the library.  “Father, I’d like to introduce you to someone.  May we come in?”

 

Lucius stood and came out from behind his desk.

 

“Please come in,” Lucius said, making his way to the sitting area.

 

Draco entered the large room, pulling Hermione behind him.  Lucius tipped his head to Hermione.

 

“Hermione, what a pleasure to see you again.  I take it my son finally had some impetus to admit his feelings for you.”

 

Draco narrowed his eyes at his father.  “You knew?”

 

“Of course I did.  It’s obvious when a wizard has found his witch.”

 

“Just how far were you willing to take this ruse, might I ask?”  Hermione said, feeling that the situation could have become hurtful if it had gone too far.

 

“Not much further, Hermione.  However, Draco needed to court you publicly or risk losing you to another wizard whose intentions were well-defined.  I believe I admirably made my point.”  

 

Draco was caught between wanting to punch his father’s smug face and laugh.  The old bugger had interfered, but for the right reasons.

 

“I should return this to you.”  Hermione handed Draco’s father the platinum brooch.  

 

Eyes widening, Draco watched Lucius take the delicate piece from Hermione.

 

“I will give this to you again in the near future,” Lucius said to Hermione.  “When do you think I will be able to present this to your witch?”

 

“Soon enough, Father.”

 

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“Oh, yes,” Hermione moaned as Draco lapped at her wet folds.  He pushed her legs further apart to open her body to his hungry mouth.  When she began to writhe, he tongued her clit and pumped two fingers in and out of her body.  Grabbing his hair, Hermione pushed his head against her core, urging him to increase his pressure.  He got the hint and added a third finger, focusing on licking her in that way she liked, where he would go light directly on her button and give extra stimulation to the sensitive area around it.  It had taken several tries for him to make her come this way, but now he was dedicated to getting her off with his mouth as often as he could.  

 

“Harder, Malfoy.  I’m going to come,” she panted, bucking her hips against his wet face.  He started to thrust his fingers into her, faster with more pressure, and licked her with a firm tongue.  Before she knew it, her limbs locked up with the impending orgasm.

 

“Oh, God, yes!  Keep going!  Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted as her body throbbed as she came.  Draco continued his strokes, gradually lessening the pressure and pace, as she moved against his mouth.  Finally, she stilled and he rested his head on her thigh, wiping at his mouth.

 

He loved to fuck her when she was fresh from an orgasm, her quim fluttering around his cock as he seated himself within her.  It was one of the reasons he was so intent upon seeing to her pleasure before he saw to his own.  

 

“You’re so beautiful when you shatter,” he said, kissing her stomach, then each sensitive nipple.

 

His thick length brushed against her damp apex of curls and Hermione felt the stirring of desire once again.  She’d never let any man have such liberties with her body, but Draco always fucked her like the world was about to end and he needed her one last time.  It made her feel uninhibited.

 

When he got to her face, he kissed her deeply.  She tasted herself on his lips and tongue as he pushed into her.  Hermione kneaded his arse as he slowly rolled his hips against her.  He broke the kiss and met her eyes.

 

“I love you,” he said, needing her to know he wasn’t going to let her think he felt anything less.  

 

Her hands came up to his chest and rubbed at the area above his heart.  “I love you, too.”

 

He took her hands in his, pinning them above her head as his thrusts became faster and deeper.  She wrapped her legs around his waist to get him to rub her g-spot on each and every stroke.  As he surged into her over and over, his balls began to tingle.  When she began to moan, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

 

Hermione loved the feral way he would growl as he came, his jaw clenched as his length pulsed within her.  She arched into him as a wave of pleasure came over her.  Her channel milked the remnants of his climax from his body.  He shuddered in pleasure, amazed by their intense chemistry.  _There is no one else for me_ , he thought to himself.     

 

As they lay in each other’s arms, Hermione remembered the question she’d meant to ask him.

 

“Why did your father say he’d return the brooch to me?” 

 

He pushed a lock of hair out of her face and met her eyes.  “The brooch is a gift from the Malfoy patriarch to his son’s intended.  It was his not-so-subtle way of telling me he approves of you as a wife for me.”

 

She remembered how Draco had responded to his father, telling him he could give Hermione the brooch soon.  She wasn’t about to push him to make a proposal.  It was going to happen and she would respond enthusiastically when it did.  Hermione pressed an answering kiss to his lips.  

 

“Okay.”

 

This night, for the first time since they began seeing each other, they stayed in his suite of rooms at Malfoy Manor.  As Draco spooned her body, she looked at his bedside table and the framed picture of her on it.  She hadn’t known, but she meant more to him than she had realized.

 

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When Draco and Hermione had married six months later, Lucius was still living in the manor.  But, after he’d seen his son getting the blow job of a lifetime in one of the sitting rooms, his decision had been easy.  The children needed their privacy and so did he.  And he’d finally met someone and wanted the space to entertain her without interruption.  His penthouse flat was unlike anywhere he had ever lived, but the fresh start had been good for him.  

 

As Lucius made his way into the manor, he heard a peal of laughter and it made his heart expand like nothing ever had.  A chubby, blonde toddler barreled toward him with arms outstretched.  

 

“Papa!” the boy yelled when he saw his grandfather.  

 

Lucius scooped him up and saw the boy’s mother following closely behind.  

 

“Hello, my dear,” he said, kissing her cheek.

 

“Hi, Dad.  It’s wonderful to have you join us for lunch.”

 

“It’s always my pleasure to see my three favorite people.  Hermione, I know you said Draco wasn’t ready for another child, but have you tried…”

 

Hermione chuckled and shook her head.  Lucius was a schemer, but he did it for the benefit of those he loved.  She would always be grateful for his initial interference, as it had given her the life she wanted.


	6. Eight Phases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stages of Draco and Hermione’s relationship as described by the phases of the moon. A Marriage Law fic.

**_New Moon:  Set Intentions_ **

 

The war was over and people were trying to start anew.  _He_ was trying to start anew.  

 

Draco worked at Flourish and Blotts as a clerk, taking people’s money, helping patrons find books, and stocking shelves when customers were in short supply.  When he’d first begun working there, he had kept his eyes down and his voice muffled, which oddly made her curious about him.  The brash, angry young man had become more introspective and solemn.  Even his clothes had changed from fine cashmeres to utilitarian wools and cottons.  He wore his hair short and tousled, as if he ran a hand through it and called it good.

 

Eighteen months after the war ended, the Ministry came to the conclusion that unless something drastic was done, wizarding Britain was not going to repopulate enough to survive.  The populace would be reduced to living in secret around Muggles, magical society too weak to sustain itself.  The law specified that Muggle-borns had first bid on a pure-blood of their choice.  

 

Hermione had worried that the law would allow pure-bloods to choose a Muggle-born, but apparently the Ministry understood most Muggle-borns were all too close to leaving the wizarding world after the atrocities they had been subjected to.  It was a last ditch effort for the Ministry to introduce a new gene pool into the wizarding population, one that procreated with much more success than the staid magical bloodlines of old.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

**_Crescent: Deepen Resolve_ **

 

“Malfoy,” she said, placing her book on the counter.

 

“Granger.  That’ll be three Galleons,” he said, wrapping her text in parchment paper.

 

She handed him the money, her courage sticking to the top of her mouth, preventing her from asking him her question.

 

“Um, have you had a bid yet?  For marriage?” she finally choked out as he held her book out for her.

 

He eyed her for a moment before shaking his head.  Was he looking at her with confusion?  Or maybe something better?

 

“You bid for Weasley?”

 

She started at his question.  “Um, no.  He accepted a bid from Ava Swan, from Hufflepuff.  She just graduated.”

 

Now it was Draco’s turn to look surprised, but he merely nodded in understanding.  After an awkward few seconds, she murmured something about getting back to work, her package left on the counter in her haste to leave.

 

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**_First Quarter:  Take Action Steps_ **

 

“For whom are you petitioning, Miss Granger?” the portly secretary asked, her quill hovering about the form.

 

“Draco Malfoy,” she said quietly, leaning towards the witch.

 

The grey-haired woman frowned.  “Come again?  Did you say the Malfoy boy?”

 

“That’s right.  We went to Hogwarts together.”

 

Hermione wondered why she offered the nosy bint that extra bit of information. 

 

The secretary lowered her voice and beckoned Hermione closer.  “They lost all their money, Miss Granger.  I hear the boy works in Diagon Alley.  If you like, I could give you the list to review again.  I’ve even starred the young wizards with the most promise.”

 

_Gods, how presumptuous!_

 

“No, but thank you.  When will he get my petition?”

 

The witch shook her head, but wrote down Draco’s information.  “It will go out today.  Are you sure?”

 

Hermione smiled at the secretary, to reassure the concerned woman and herself.  

 

“Yes, please send it out.”

 

“Alright, dear.  Good luck.”

 

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**_Gibbous:  Refine and Improve_ **

 

A Ministry owl had delivered a note the previous night letting her know her petition had been delivered to one Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy and reminded her he had seventy-two hours to accept or reject her proposal.  

 

Her stomach was in knots the next day as she headed to work.  Perhaps she should have asked him if he would even entertain her proposal, but her more reckless side wanted him to know how serious she was about her offer.  Her friends knew of her plan and while they thought it was strange, they didn’t try to dissuade her. 

 

When a knock sounded at her office door and the wizard in question came in with her forgotten purchase, Hermione felt at once elated and panicky. 

 

“You forgot your book the other day,” he said, passing her the heavy tome.  

 

“Thank you.”

 

He was standing in front of her desk, looking around her small office.  “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight so we can discuss the proposal?”

 

In her mind, she imagined herself doing all the wooing, trying to garner his affection.  It was a relief he was willing to even entertain the idea of her bid for him.

 

“That would be good.  We can meet at my flat, if you like.”

 

He actually smiled at her and shook his head.  “There’s a very good Italian restaurant near my cottage.  You’ll like it.  I’ll come by your office around six?”

 

“Yes, okay,” she said, a smile finding its way onto her face.  

 

A quick Floo call to Ginny had the redheaded witch rushing to the Ministry with cosmetics and a few clothing options.  Hermione was a lovely, confident witch, but Ginny knew just how to improve on Hermione’s looks with a bit of color and an outfit that was more awe-inspiring than the professional clothing she wore to work.  

 

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Gin asked as she brushed on a layer of mascara.

 

“Yeah, I do.  I think we could have been friends if he hadn’t been such an arse at school.”

 

“Hmm,” the younger witch hummed as she examined her work.  “Well, he won’t know what hit him tonight.  Are you going to make him show you the goods?”

 

“Merlin’s pants, Ginevra!”

 

“Well?  What if you find out he has a tiny prick and you’re bonded and married, not another cock in sight?”

 

“Good Lord,” Hermione moaned.  “I’m sure it’s not tiny, if the gossip had any truth to it.”

 

“Are you nervous?  I mean, you’re still a virgin.  What if he’s rough or, oh Godric, he’s not gay, is he?”

 

“Gin, stop!  Yes, I’m a virgin, but I’m not as inexperienced as you seem to think.  And I don’t think he’s gay.  If he is, I’ll withdraw my petition.  I want the possibility of love to develop between us.”

 

“Alright.  I just had to make my concerns known.  Now, I need to get out of here before he shows up.  Please, please owl me and tell me how it went.”  She lightly bussed Hermione’s cheek.  “He might just be the one for you,” she mused.

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing a very modest amount of work.  Normally, Hermione would have chided herself for her inattention, but if Draco accepted her bid, her life was going to change.  She gave up trying to work an hour before Draco was to arrive and began to make a list of some things they should discuss.  

 

_1.  Do you still believe in blood purity?  If not, what changed your mind?_

_2.  Do you have career goals beyond working at F &B?  If so, what are they?_

_3.  Are you currently involved in a relationship?  If you are and you could possibly be paired with the witch, would you want me to withdraw my petition?_

_4.  The marriage law requires us to have two children, but would you be amenable to more?_

_5.  Would you be open to residing in a Muggle neighborhood?_

_6.  Tell me about your family.  Are you still in contact with them?_

_7.  Do you think this could possibly work between us?_

 

She sighed, her nerves starting to fray as her department cleared out.  She opened her door slightly, so she could see Draco as he approached.  Finally at 5:58, she saw him.  He was dressed in a pair of slacks with a sweater over a collared shirt.  For some reason, he reminded her of a university student and that helped her to feel some kinship to him.  

 

“Hello.  Are you ready?”

 

She attempted a smile, which she imagined looked like a grimace.  “Yes, let me get my bag.”

 

He allowed her to collect her things and held out his arm to her as she came around the desk.  The gesture was so chivalrous she began to feel her eyes prick with tears.  Her dad had done the same with her mum, and then with Hermione when she got a bit older, and she had always interpreted it as a gentleman’s action.  It was a little thing, but it made her feel protected and cared for.

 

“Where do you live?” she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.  

 

“Have you heard of the village of Blockley?”

 

“Um, I haven’t.”

 

“It’s very small, in Gloucestershire.”

 

“Why there?  Why not London?”

 

“Is that where you live?”

 

“Yes, I have a flat in London.  My gran owns the building,” she said sheepishly.  Draco knew Hermione was conscientious of what she perceived as an unfair advantage.

 

“Oh, that’s good.  London is expensive.  My father has a Squib half-brother and he lives in Blockley.  He offered me his guest cottage after Lucius and Narcissa were banished from England.”

 

“Does he know about, um, everything?”

 

Draco shook his head and steered her towards the Apparition point.  “No, not everything.  But my father asked him to assist me, and he obliged.  Uncle Seneca and Aunt Beatrice are quite kind,” he said softly.

 

She was relieved to know Draco had been shown some mercy after his parents had been told to leave the country.  

 

“We’ll Apparate to a discreet area and walk to the restaurant from there.  Are you alright with Side-Along?”

 

“It’s not my favorite, but I can handle it.”

 

After an uncomfortable moment, they landed in a private, grassy area at the bottom of a hill.  Hermione stumbled, causing Draco to stabilize her with both hands.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Thank you, Malfoy.”

 

They began to walk into the town center, a picturesque, quaint place with old brick buildings and green as far as the eye could see.  After about ten minutes, they arrived at Il Piato, the Italian restaurant Draco had told her about.  The aroma of garlic, basil, tomato, and cheese wafted from the door of the eatery.  A waitress sat them at an intimate table for two in a dim corner.

 

“Can you bring us a bottle of your house red?” Draco asked.  

 

The waitress nodded and left.  

 

“This is nerve-racking, isn’t it?” Hermione asked, her fingers arranging and rearranging the napkin and silverware.

 

“Yeah, but it’s a relief, too.  If I hadn’t been contacted or if I rejected my first two options, the Ministry would place me with whom they thought my best option would be.  For all I know, I’d be put with…I don’t know…Professor Trelawney.”  

 

“That would be stressful.  I can’t disagree.”

 

The waitress put down two wine glasses and poured them both a healthy dose of the robust red.

 

“May I suggest the house special?” the server asked.  Neither Draco or Hermione much cared what they ate, so both ordered the special and nibbled on a bread basket the server had put on the table.

 

“I had some, um, questions for you.”  Hermione began to pull a sheet of parchment out of her bag.

 

“Sure.  That’s why we’re meeting.”  Draco was amused.  Hermione was ever the scholar.

 

She almost began to ask him each question, but thought it might be better to hand him the list and let him answer.  He read it carefully, a thoughtful expression on his face.

 

“Blood purity is utter bollocks.  The most powerful wizards in the world have been half-bloods.  _You’re_ powerful and your parents are Muggles,” he said, covering his eyes for a moment before looking back at her.  “You have to know how sorry I am for what you suffered.  I saw your blood and it was the same as mine.”

 

“I know, Draco.  I could see you didn’t want to be in your house, either.”

 

He nodded and looked down at her list, trying to pull himself out of his morose guilt.  He hoped he hadn’t put Hermione off of him.  

 

“Do you want me to keep answering your questions?”

 

“Please.  We have to talk if we want to know if this might work.”

 

“I like my job at Flourish and Blotts, but I do want to do something more.  Can I confess something to you?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” she murmured.

 

“I started taking a correspondence course in Charms Mastery three months ago.  The classes are expensive, but I can afford to take one per semester.  I’ll be finished with the program in four years.”

 

This was exactly the type of information Hermione had hoped to learn about Malfoy.  He was someone who wanted to better himself through study and was willing to do it on his own Galleon and in his spare time.  

 

“I’m impressed and a bit envious.  I should be doing to same thing with my free time.”

 

“Do you not enjoy your job?” he wondered.

 

“Yes, I like it, but I love going to school and deepening my knowledge.  After I finished my N.E.W.T.s, I was ready to work for a bit and make some money.”  

 

“Makes sense,” he agreed, looking down at her list again.  “I’m not involved with anyone currently.  Truthfully, I’ve never been in a serious relationship before.”

 

“Oh, that’s good.  I’d hate to inadvertently encroach on a relationship.”

 

“You weren’t involved with anyone?” 

 

Hermione chuckled.  “No.  Ron and I tried for a couple of months after the war ended, but we weren’t a good fit that way.  We’re much better as friends.  I’ve been on a few dates here and there, but since the Marriage Law came about, it seems everyone is ultra-cautious about showing interest in someone, lest it be misconstrued as a marriage proposal.”

 

Draco laughed.  “Yeah, I can see that.  As for your next question, I suppose more than two children would be something I might consider.  Did you have a number in mind?”

 

“No, not really, I just wanted to keep the option available.”

 

The waitress brought out two steaming plates of linguine in clam sauce and they ate a few bites before Draco continued to answer her questions.

 

“Well, as you can see, I’m more comfortable around Muggles now, but I think I would ultimately prefer to live in a wizarding area.  I guess magic is such a huge part of my life that I don’t like the idea of hiding it.”

 

“That seems fair,” she conceded.

 

“As for my parents, their banishment is a true one.  They aren’t allowed to have contact with anyone in Britain, including me.”

 

“Do you miss them?”

 

“Yes and no.  Both of them willingly followed the Dark Lord and they used me to get back in his good graces.  I haven’t quite forgiven them for that.  But the way my mother sobbed when she was given her sentence…the way she sobbed my name…I didn’t doubt her love for me.  My father was much more stoic about the sentence.  It was a kinder sentence than he deserved.”

 

Hermione sipped her wine, appreciating Draco’s candidness.  He was smart and handsome, yes, but there was a spark with him, an awareness in her being when he was near.  She wanted that electricity with her future husband.  Nothing would be worse than to be married to a man who didn’t inspire _feelings_ in her.  The Ministry might be pushing people together, but that didn’t mean she had to live a life of emotional indifference.  

 

They finished their food and Draco took the bill, leaving the appropriate sum on the table for the waitress.  Walking along the darkened street, Hermione looked at her surroundings.  After living in the city, she’d forgotten how quiet it could be away from the automobiles and throngs of people. 

 

“Would you like to come to my cottage for coffee or tea so we can discuss your last question?” he asked, taking her arm once again.

 

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

 

Draco guided her to a darkened area off the main road and Apparated them to the front of a tiny house.  It was made of rock and had huge trees surrounding it, making it appear as if it was from a fairytale.  He gave her a moment to study the property before making his way to the door.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, admiring the wood floors and whitewashed walls.  

 

“It’s cozy.  Perfect for one person.  Is tea okay?”

 

Hermione put her coat and purse on a chair and sat on the couch.

 

“Yes, thanks.”  

 

His kitchen was in proportion to the miniscule space, which must have been a potting shed in its previous life.  A small-scale stove and oven, sink, icebox, and butcher-block counter top were set up along one wall.  His bed was tucked into a corner of the room.  A door to what she assumed was the loo was at the back of the little studio cottage.  The neutral colors, books, and quiet were soothing.  He brought over two mugs of steaming tea, putting them on the coffee table and sitting beside her.  He smelled fresh, like laundry detergent.  Draco took a sip of tea.

 

“Why did you choose me?”

 

She looked into her tea for a moment before answering.  “I was talking to Andromeda Tonks…um, do you know her?”

 

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

 

“She said the best marriages aren’t the ones that are between two people who agree all the time, but between the people who can find common ground.  With her and Ted, there was a bit of friction there that challenged her.  I searched my mind for someone I had friction with and you obviously fit the bill,” she said with a grin.  “So, I wondered if maybe there were some things on which we could compromise, which is why I had that list of questions.”

 

Her reason was so much better than Draco could have imagined.  He was worried she would say it was to show the world Muggle-borns and pure-bloods could get along.  He was done doing things for the “greater good”.  It was time he did something for his own good, not what other people thought he should do.  

 

“I was worried you wanted me for my good looks,” he joked.

 

She looked uncomfortable.  “I know I’m not as beautiful as the witches you were with before, so the attraction bit makes me worry.”

 

“I am attracted to you, actually.  Since third year, if we’re baring our souls here.  So you shouldn’t worry about that part.”

 

She ducked her head, but he could tell she was smiling.  

 

“Can I get you more tea?”

 

She gave him a warm smile and shook her head, her chestnut curls bouncing.

 

“You should take the seventy-two hours to decide if you’d like to accept the marriage contract.  The Ministry will let me know what you decide.  And if you decide to decline…I had a nice time with you tonight.”

 

She stood and collected her things.  He walked her to the door.

 

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

 

And surprising even himself, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

  

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**_Full Moon:  Culminate; Let Realizations Come to You_ **

 

When Draco woke the next morning, he recognized for the first time in a long time that he had slept without waking several times during the night.  It wasn’t that he was devoid of human contact, since he regularly visited with his uncle and aunt, the other employees at Flourish and Blotts, and remained friends with a few people from school.  However, this possible relationship with Hermione was new and he was, dare he admit it, excited.  Thrilled, even.

 

He considered writing Hermione and telling her he would accept her marriage contract, but he wanted to give himself the time to think, to make sure he was making the decision that was best for him.

 

It was his day off from the bookstore, so he made his way to his uncle’s garage, where the older gentleman was tinkering with the farm’s generator.  Uncle Seneca was Lucius’ half-brother from an affair his grandfather Abraxas had with a young witch who had worked for him.  Seneca had taken his mother’s name, but Abraxas for all his philandering and faults, have given Seneca funds for private tutelage and when it was determined Seneca was a Squib, Abraxas and Seneca’s mother worked together to help their son find a place in the Muggle world.  Seneca was fifteen years older than Lucius, but besides the age gap, where Lucius was harsh, Seneca was reasonable, where Lucius was prideful, Seneca was humble.  Despite their differences and Lucius’ feelings on blood purity, he had always spoken fondly of his older brother and Seneca seemed to reciprocate the sentiment.

 

“Draco,” Uncle Seneca said, wiping his hands on a flannel.  “Beatrice made a fantastic apple tart last night.  Might I interest you in a piece?”

 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

Draco followed his uncle to the main house, a large, rambling home fit for a family, although the couple never did have children.  The inside was spare, but comfortable.  The spacious kitchen was bright and cheerful with a basket of vegetables on the counter and shelves of cookbooks on the walls.  

 

“You’re looking pensive,” Seneca observed.  “Want to tell me about it?”

 

Seneca knew his nephew had suffered in the last war, but he never pressured Draco to tell him more than he was willing to offer.  The longer the boy lived on the property, the more Seneca liked him.  Lucius had suggested his son would need a lot of assistance, but Seneca found his nephew to be fairly self-sufficient once he understood how something worked.  He wasn’t a freeloader, either, even though Seneca and Beatrice had offered him the little cottage for free.  Every month, he slipped an envelope with a couple hundred pounds under the door of the main house.

 

“After the war, the Ministry ran the numbers and figured out that if people between eighteen and sixty didn’t start to procreate at a faster pace, magical society would have too few wizards to function properly.  So, to speed up the process, the Ministry enacted a Marriage Law and I received an offer yesterday.”

 

Seneca felt anger at the Ministry for doing something so invasive to its people.  These people had just survived a war, only to be told to marry someone, not necessarily of their choosing, and have children with them.  But, Seneca wasn’t of that world and he swallowed his indignation on Draco’s behalf, attempting to understand the boy’s feelings on the matter.  He served his nephew a slice of tart and put it before him.

 

“How did you feel about the offer?”

 

“A little emasculated,” he said with a wry chuckle.  “The witch, she’s Muggle-born, and I wasn’t nice to her when we were in school.”

 

“Do you think she’s trying to retaliate in some way?” Seneca wondered.

 

“No, not at all.  Hermione has a lot of integrity and she thinks we would challenge each other in a good way.”

 

“You respect her?”

 

“Yes, very much.  I admire her and for some odd reason, I think she likes how I’ve handled everything that’s happened after the war ended.”

 

“You’re a good man, Draco.  You’ll make something of yourself, just give it time.”

 

Seneca was always so kindhearted to him, it made his chest contract to hear the generous words from his uncle.  He wasn’t used to people who acknowledged his efforts, no matter the outcome.

 

“I took her out for dinner last night so we could discuss the marriage offer and we had an excellent conversation.  Do you think it’s strange that I feel like she might be a match for me?”

 

“Do you know how Bea and I met?” Seneca asked.

 

Draco shook his head and took another bite of the apple tart, which had just a bit of caramel to cut the sourness of the apples.  It was delicious.

 

“After I failed to present any magic, my mother and your grandfather began looking for a school for me in the Muggle world.  Mother was a pure-blood, too, and they really knew very little about Muggles, but they found a boarding school for me in Switzerland.  After I got accustomed to Muggle subjects, I found I was quite good at maths.  When I finished secondary school, I went to university and in my very first class, a young woman sat next to me.  We looked at each other and in that moment, I just knew in my gut I would marry her.  I didn’t even know her name,” he said with a laugh.  “I guess what I’m trying to say is: if your instincts tell you that you might find love with this witch, accept the offer.”

 

Draco was listening with rapt attention, nodding at his uncle’s words.  “You’re right.  This situation is just so bloody mad, I don’t even know if I should get her a ring.  Do you think we should even bother with a real wedding?”

 

“Yes to both.  Actually, I have my grandmother’s ring.  If Bea and I had children, we would have passed it down to our son, but I’d be honored if you’d considered it for your young lady.”

 

Draco was touched and a tad relieved at the suggestion.  “Thank you, Uncle.  For everything.”

 

Seneca clapped Draco on the shoulder.  “Come on.  Let’s go dig up that ring.”

 

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**_Disseminating:  Express New Found Truths_ **

 

After finding the ring with his uncle, a two-carat diamond in a beautiful antique platinum setting, Draco began to figure out a special way to accept the offer.  He contemplated going to her office, but that just seemed too common.  He could invite her out to dinner again, but his funds were low as it was.  He finally decided to go to her flat with a bottle of champagne, flowers, and the ring.  Merlin, he could never show enough gratitude for Seneca’s generosity.

 

He used the Ministry documentation, which had her address, and made his way into London after she was done with work.  Her building was small, maybe eight units, but well-kept and charming.  He walked up the stairs to her flat, hoping she would be there.  It was taking all his emotional courage to make this trip and he didn’t know if he would be able to do this meeting the way he wanted to if she wasn’t home and he had to make other plans.

 

When he got to her door and knocked, he was relieved to hear her call out _just a minute_.  She opened the door and beckoned him in, smiling when he handed her a bouquet of big, white gardenias.  

 

“I know you made the bid for me, but can we do this the regular way?”

 

“Yes, please,” she said, her words catching in her throat.  Hermione had really been trying to keep it together, but she was both worried about Draco rejecting _or_ accepting her.  

 

They sat on her little sofa and she noticed he seemed nervous, too, but he took her hands in his.  His fingers were long, his nails short, but smooth.  The contact gave her a small jolt of excitement.  Gods, she hoped they’d have good chemistry.

 

“Hermione, I’ve always admired your intelligence, your gumption, and the loyalty and love you offer to those you hold dear.  One day I hope to be a part of that special group.  I would very much like you to be my wife, if you’ll have me.”

 

He looked into her dark eyes and she squeezed his hands.

 

“Yes, I want you,” she said with a blush.  For she did find him incredibly handsome, but he was smart and knew how to survive life’s challenges.  “I want to marry you.”

 

And though the exchange was awkward, something shifted in both Draco and Hermione.  They were going to belong to each other for the rest of their days, since magical people really meant the _‘til death do us part_ of the wedding vows.  He took the ring out of his pocket and presented it to her.  She gasped and her eyes filled with tears.  He slipped the ring on her finger, noticing the way the diamond seemed to shine on her hand. 

 

“Beautiful,” he said, wiping a stray tear off her cheek.  She leaned into him, her forehead resting on his shoulder and he took the opportunity to embrace her.  He felt her body relax into his and buried his face in her curls, inhaling the scent of her floral shampoo.  

 

“Thank you,” she murmured.  

 

He pushed her back slightly so they could face each other.  “No, thank _you_.  The more I thought about what you said the other night at dinner, the more I think this marriage could work.  I want it to work.”

 

In answer, her lips found his.  His lips were full and firm and his breath tasted like cinnamon.  He angled his head slightly and coaxed her lips to open for him.  When his tongue met hers, she could not help but return his stroking.  The feeling was incomparable.  A kiss had never felt so consuming and she wrapped her arms around his neck.  After a minute, they broke apart, breathing slightly shaky from a combination of nerves and arousal.  Draco grinned at Hermione, an atmosphere of lightness making itself at home in his heart.  He could do this, and he would do it right. 

 

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**_Last Quarter: Seed Your Next Cycle_ **

 

They were married a month after Draco accepted Hermione’s petition.  Hermione’s parents had been understandably upset to learn their daughter was being forced to marry at so young an age, but it was a small consolation that she had been able to choose the wizard she wanted to marry.  And they liked Draco, even though they had heard of the boy from Hermione during her summers home from Hogwarts.  

 

Hermione and her mum worked for a month straight to plan a real wedding and in that time, the Grangers got to know Draco, Seneca, and Beatrice.  Friends and family gathered at the wedding and though it was uncomfortable for some due to residual anger from the war or confusion as to why the two were marrying so quickly, everyone was on good behavior.  The guests gave their blessings to the couple, who seemed endearingly smitten with each other.   

 

After a short honeymoon to Lake Windmere, thanks to Seneca and Beatrice, they settled in Draco’s little cottage, which they magically enlarged to make more comfortable for themselves.  They added a real bedroom, a tub to the loo, and extended the living area to include a dining nook and extra seating.  Of course, they added bookshelves, since both Draco and Hermione had books on seemingly every subject.  

 

Some days it still felt like they’d been thrown together, when Draco needed space and Hermione wanted to talk, or when she had her monthly and was embarrassed with him knowing it.  Overall, they’d both known harder circumstances and they gave each other time to adjust to the relationship.

 

One benefit for both was the income they garnered from the marriage, thanks to the Ministry.  The extra Galleons were enough for Draco to take an extra class each term and would also help them slowly save for a bigger place.  They would need the space in the next few years, as the Marriage Law specified that they have two children within a six-year period.

 

Hermione lay in bed one frosty spring morning six months into their marriage.  She was spooned against Draco’s body, his arm held possessively around her waist.  His body was warm and he always smelled so good to her.  The law had given them a year to consummate their union, which Hermione thought was quite reasonable.  In the old days, magical marriages had to be consummated within thirty-six hours of the bonding.  She and Draco had slept together six weeks after the ceremony, but both could admit that what led up to sex had been a sensual exploration of each other’s bodies.  

 

Rubbing her legs together to ease the soreness in her core, Hermione sighed in satisfaction at the memory of the previous night.  She’d had a God-awful day at work, with non-stop paperwork and coworkers who seemed to think nothing of spending the day gossiping rather than working.  Draco had made her dinner after his shift and had listened to her frustrations over her job, which were considerable.  She’d never had someone who she could really converse with, besides her parents, and that excluded most in-depth discussions where magic was involved.  They talked about everything under the sun and both admitted they would have had a much better school experience if they’d had each other as friends.

 

He kissed her neck and pulled her into his body, his erection pressing against her bum.  

 

“I love you,” he said without preamble.  “You don’t have to say anything back, but I wanted you to know.”

 

She turned to face him, a joyous smile on her face.  “I love you, too, Draco.”

 

He pulled her into his body, hugging her tightly.  After their first dinner at the little Italian bistro, Draco had known Hermione would be a witch he could love.  He just never expected it to happen so quickly.

 

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**_Balsamic: Return to Follow Stillness_ **

 

Ten Years Later

 

“Oh, Gin, she’s perfect,” Hermione murmured as she held the Potter’s newest addition.  

 

Ginny laid back amongst the pillows of her large bed in the bedroom of her home.  Grimmauld Place was practically unrecognizable now, with its soothing colors and comfortable, stylish furniture.

 

“Did you leave your little ones with Beatrice?” Ginny asked.

 

The baby began to nuzzle Hermione’s breast and she handed her back to Ginny.

 

“Bea has Thomas and little Seneca, but Draco’s downstairs with Anna and Claire.  The girls are dying to see Lily.”

 

“They can come up when I’m done nursing.  Do you two think you want any more children?”

 

Hermione laughed and looked at the photos on the bedroom wall.  “Maybe?”

 

“Overachievers,” Ginny teased.

 

“Our family is so different than either of the families we grew up in, and some days it’s so hard to have four kids, but usually it’s rather sweet and fun.”

 

Ginny dislodged the sleeping baby from her bosom and put her in the bedside bassinet.  

 

“When you go down to get the girls, will you bring me a piece of that chocolate cake Beatrice sent over?”

 

Hermione laughed.  “Of course.  Take advantage of the extra calories you’re burning feeding this little one.”

 

 

 

Later that evening, after the children were tucked into their beds, Draco found his wife looking at pictures of their wedding, their honeymoon, Draco in his Unspeakable robes after he received his Master in Charms, the rambling fixer-upper they’d purchased a few months before Anna, their oldest child, was born, and finally pictures of the babies, with Draco and Hermione looking star-struck as they gazed at their newest family member.  Little Seneca was just over a year, so his birth pictures included the other Malfoy children, as well.  

 

“Did the Potter’s baby make you feel broody?” Draco asked, sitting next to Hermione on their bed.  He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.  

 

“You know me so well, but we have our hands full as it is.”

 

“When has that ever stopped us, love?  We had our hands full after Anna was born, with a new house, an infant, and your promotion to assistant director of your department.  Things have worked out for us.”

 

“You’re right.  I just feel that I’ve been blessed so many times over the years, with you and our children, and I don’t want to jinx it.  I worry about what could go wrong.”

 

“There’s no cap on happiness.  You taught me that.  I didn’t grow up in a happy household and I used to think the best I would get out of life was a decent career, perhaps make back some of the lost Malfoy fortune, and marry someone who I didn’t find annoying.  What we have now can be a bit chaotic…”--Hermione laughed at this—“…but it’s wonderful, too.  The Marriage Law probably made some people miserable, but it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

 

“It was for me, too.  I can’t imagine my life with anyone else.”

 

From Hermione’s pile of photos, he took a picture of the six of them in front of the Christmas tree the previous year.  Hermione loved to color coordinate their holiday photos, with the Malfoy females wearing red and the Malfoy males wearing green.  

 

“When you look at this picture, can you imagine another sprog in red or green?” he asked mischievously.  Draco already knew how she would answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.

 

She looked at the picture and could absolutely imagine a little girl, with curly hair like her, but big grey eyes like Draco.  Eventually she conceded that she could imagine another baby in the picture, although she kept the part about another girl to herself.  The gender of the baby didn’t matter, so much as their health.

 

“I want another baby,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s temple.  “But I never wanted you to feel pressured.”

 

“We’re mad, you know that, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, and I love it.”

 

“I love it, too,” Hermione beamed and kissed her husband.  

 

Neither of them would say they had ever expected to be married to each other, but they meshed well.  There was something to following your instincts into unknown territory; trusting yourself to do what was right for you.  It was usually terrifying at first, but living a life that made you feel worthy was always better than doing what others thought was best.  And though their beginning as a couple had been unorthodox, it turned out life was better when you embraced the unexpected.     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Section titles courtesy of astrodharma.org: Meaning of the Moon’s Eight Phases.


	7. Malfoys Don’t Divorce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally learns to appreciate his wife.

 

 

“You harp on every single little thing I do!” 

 

“I asked you to pick up Lyra from school and you told me you would!  I’m not your mother, Draco, I shouldn’t have to constantly remind you to do things.”

 

“I’m busy, trying to support our family.  I know it’s hard to remember that when you spend your days enjoying playdates and reading children’s books.”  

 

Hermione wiped a tear of frustration from her cheek.  “We agreed it was important for me to stay home with the kids, but you act like it’s all fun and games.  I clean up after children, make sure they’re productive, cook, and make sure all our household accounts and chores are taken care of so you can enjoy our family when you’re here.”

 

Draco gave her a disingenuous smile.  “Oh, Hermione, thank you for doing what a capable house-elf can do.  What would we do without you?”

 

“I’m done,” she said quietly, her throat burning with angry tears.  “When you get home from work tomorrow, I’ll be gone.”

 

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When Draco got home from work the next day, he found a note on the kitchen counter.  

 

_Draco,_

 

_I will take care of the children and their activities when you’re at work, but you will need to take them at night.  I’m resuming my job as a Healer at St. Mungo’s, but I will be working the night shift._

 

_I’ve not had time to secure a flat, so if there is an emergency, you may Floo call me at Harry’s house._

 

_Hermione_

 

Of course they fought, they’d been married for ten years.  But she’d never left the house after a fight.  He’d slept on the couch on occasion, but after a day or two, things would blow over and they’d be right as rain again.  

 

The Floo sounded.  _Ah, there she is._   But instead of finding Hermione, Ginny Potter held Leo in her right arm and Lyra held Ginny’s left hand.  The redhead looked uncomfortable, but gave Draco a small nod.  

 

“Where’s Hermione?” Draco asked.

 

“She’s gone to St. Mungo’s.  She said she left you a note?”

 

Draco looked at his miserable daughter.  “Take Leo into his room and play with him while I talk to Aunt Ginny, okay?”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” his obedient little girl replied, her brown curls bouncing as she walked two year old Leo towards the bedrooms.

 

When the kids were out of sight, Draco rubbed a hand over his face.  “Did she say anything to you?”

 

Ginny shook her head.  “She told us she needed a place for a few days until she found a flat.  I’m sorry, Draco.”

 

“Thanks, Ginny.”

 

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He woke the next morning with Lyra shaking him.  

 

“Daddy, wake up!  Don’t you have to work today?”

 

Leo was curled into his side, the battle to get the toddler to bed lost at close to midnight the evening before.  Lyra had tried to comb her hair, but at seven she wasn’t very adept with a brush.  Her pigtails were lopsided and her school uniform unironed.  When Draco finally looked at the clock, he realized he had twenty minutes until he had to be at work.

 

“Have a bowl of cereal, Lyr.  Mum will be here soon and she’ll take you to school.”

 

Lyra’s blue eyes began to shimmer, but she just nodded and left the bedroom.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Leo was up and playing on the bathroom floor while Draco tried to get ready for work. 

 

“Leo, don’t get undressed, buddy.  Wait for Mummy, she’ll change you.”

 

“I do it!” Leo said happily, pulling off his pajamas with alarming quickness.  Draco had just gotten his tie knotted when the Floo sounded.  He picked up Leo and made his way to the kitchen to speak to his wife.

 

“Need potty, Dada,” Leo said urgently.  

 

“Buddy, just give me a minute to talk to Mummy—“ 

 

He felt warm wetness on his shirt, which was rapidly making its way down his body.

 

“Fuck!” 

 

At that moment, Hermione stepped into the hall, her Healer robes still on.  Somehow, Draco had hoped the idea of her working at St. Mungo’s again was some kind of ruse to prove a point.  But he could see by her tidy chignon and work shoes that she had indeed been at the hospital.

 

Without a word or a look, she efficiently took Leo from Draco, talking to her son as if all was right with the world.  She walked away from her husband to change her son into clean clothes.  Draco was in the bedroom changing when he heard the Floo whoosh and once again, his family was gone.

 

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Pansy came into Draco’s office.  They both worked as Ministry representatives to foreign governments, Draco to France and Pansy to Spain.  It was a prestigious position and the friends had worked hard to secure their places in the Ministry after the war.  

 

“Blaise told me Hermione was at the hospital last night,” she said carefully, knowing her friend had a hair-trigger temper.

 

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.  “Yup.  She didn’t even talk to me when she came by the house this morning.”

 

“Blaise’s brother’s wife is a divorce representative.  She’d take you on as a client.”

 

He looked at her sharply.  “We’re not getting divorced, Parkinson.  It’s just a really bad fight.  I said something exceedingly stupid, but she’ll get over it, she always does.”

 

Pansy gave Draco a reassuring smile.  “Sure, Draco.  Let me know if you need me and Blaise to take the kids for you two.”

 

She walked out of his office, shaking her head once she got into the hall.  _He’s always taken Hermione for granted._   She’d given up her career after they’d had children so he could devote his full attention to _his_ career.  Hermione was the most competent witch Pansy knew and her home and family were a testament to that, but somehow Draco had never understood how much she did for them.  He made light of her activities with the children and had been wholly unhappy when Hermione had insisted Lyra attend a Muggle school, even though it was considered the best primary school in the country.  

 

_Well, Hermione doesn’t do things by halves.  If she left him, she’s not going back unless by some miracle Draco realizes he needs to kiss her arse for the next fifty years._

 

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“Why don’t you tell Mummy you’re sorry?” Lyra asked her father that night.  

 

Ginny had dropped off the kids, claiming that Hermione was catching a few hours of sleep before her late night shift at the hospital began.  He’d wanted to talk to his wife, but every time he’d planned to, something got in the way.

 

“Mummy knows I love her,” Draco told his daughter reassuringly.  

 

“She’s sad, Daddy.  And I don’t want to live in a flat.  I want to live here, with you and Mummy!” she said, dissolving into tears. 

 

“Your mum is just mad at me.  Don’t worry, love, this will blow over soon.”

 

He held his little girl, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.  

 

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Narcissa looked at her son with total disapproval.  “Are you actually trying to replace Hermione?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Of course not, Mother.  I just need some help with the house until Hermione comes back.  You know I’m a terrible cook.  The kids are sick of take-away.  I’ll even take Trudy.  I know she’s too old to do much around the manor.”

 

“Your father has Trudy cataloging the things we store in the attic.  You’ll have to ask him if he can spare her.”

 

“Spare who?”  Lucius asked, sitting beside his wife on the setee.  

 

“Trudy, sir.  I could use a spot of help with the children.”

 

Lucius eyed his son.  “Malfoys don’t divorce, Draco.  Have you offered her a new trinket or made arrangements for a short trip away from the children?”

 

“She’ll come back, Father.”

 

“What exactly did you say to make her so angry?” Narcissa asked.

 

“I had a horrendous day at work and forgot to pick up Lyra from school…”

 

“Poor little lamb,” Narcissa said with sympathy for Lyra, imagining her sweet granddaughter waiting and waiting at an empty school building.

 

“And Hermione was upset that I forgot.  I may have compared what she does to what a competent house-elf can do.”

 

His parents looked at him with a combination of disbelief and anger on their daughter-in-law’s behalf.  

 

“I do not think I can spare Trudy at this time.  But the work of a house-elf is not so complicated, is it, son?”

 

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He was bloody exhausted.  Five days Hermione had been gone and the house looked like the site of a bomb explosion.  He’d never realized how fast two children could make a mess out of a seemingly clean room.  

 

An owl pecked at the bedroom window and he recognized it as the Potter’s owl.  The calm bird stuck his leg out for Draco and flew away as soon as the parchment was removed.  

 

_Draco,_

 

_I’ve secured a flat and will be coming to the house this weekend to pick up the remainder of my things, as well as several of the children’s belongings.  Between moving into my new home on Saturday and working on Sunday, I ask that you take Lyra and Leo this weekend.  I have already told the hospital I cannot work the following weekend, so that I can take the children that weekend.  If you have any questions or concerns, please owl me._

 

_H.G._

 

 

H.G.?  H.G.?  She hadn’t been H.G. in ten years!  This was getting ridiculous.  Coming to pick up her stuff?  His arse she was taking her stuff!  She was hurting him, their children, and the reputation of the Malfoy family with this little farce.  She needed to come home.  

 

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Ten years they’d been together and his little quips about what she did with the children during the day, her body after the children had been born, and his general blasé attitude about her had all contributed to her decision to leave Draco.  Their last argument proved the point that he saw her as not much more than the help.  He’d never even apologized for saying something so hurtful to her.  

 

Working at night, after taking care of Leo and taking and picking up Lyra from school during the day was tiring, but for the first time in several years, she felt valued as a smart, competent witch.  She found that her years of childrearing helped her bedside manner and the patients seemed to respond to her motherly tendencies.  

 

She’d been especially shocked when a Quidditch player who’d broken two ribs and his wrist had asked her to dinner after she’d healed him.  The flare of her hips and the heaviness of her breasts had become something she tried to hide, but perhaps she had been looking at her body the wrong way.  Clearly there were wizards out there who liked a woman with a few curves, although that particular wizard would have to find his curves with another witch.  Hermione wasn’t quite ready to begin dating, although she supposed she would want to see someone at some point.  But when she thought of herself with someone, he always had platinum hair and piercing grey eyes.

 

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**_Hermione Malfoy_ ** _,_

 

_No, you may not remove your things from_ **_our_ ** _house.  When you come to your senses and come back, you may have your things._

 

_Draco_

 

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“Mummy looked pretty.  Did you like her new clothes, Daddy?” Lyra asked.

 

Draco nodded with a fake smile.  Instead of picking up her things on Saturday, as she had planned, Hermione decided to treat herself to a new wardrobe and new furniture for her flat after getting Draco’s note.  

 

_Well, that spectacularly backfired,_ he thought bitterly.  

 

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At the beginning of the third week of their separation, Draco was starting to grasp the enormity of Hermione’s work as a wife and mother.  After feeding and bathing the children, Draco was done for the night, but there was still Lyra’s lunch to pack, toys to pick up, laundry to wash, dry, and put away and general house cleaning.  Even with the use of magic, he still had enough work to keep him up much later than he liked.  

 

And the children missed their mum, often crying as Draco was putting them to bed, asking to have Mummy put them to sleep.  Hermione had always put the kids to bed and she did it so effortlessly that Draco had thought it had been a simple task.  When he put the kids to bed, there were non-stop trips to the loo, requests for water, and books to be read.  What had taken Hermione fifteen minutes took Draco a minimum of an hour, but usually close to two.      

 

He’d also discovered how much work she’d done to help him.  He’d run out of shorts, had burned himself ironing his shirt, had shrunk his slacks when he’d dried them on a setting much too hot, he had to buy his lunch every day since he didn’t even think about packing a lunch before work, and the kitchen cupboards were bare of the foods the he and the kids ate on a regular basis.  He’d actually fed them a tin of peas with a side of mini-marshmallows for breakfast one morning when he found they had no milk or cereal.  Lyra had dutifully eaten the green and white breakfast, but little Leo had loudly cried for his mother the entire duration of the meal.

 

Draco, although trying desperately to be cheerful for his children, wanted to cry as well.

 

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Since beginning her whirlwind life away from Draco, Hermione finally had two consecutive days off.  She planned on spending the weekend with her kids, enjoying a trip to the zoo or some time at a park.  Both children, but Lyra mostly, had been struggling with the new circumstances in their family.

 

An unexpected owl from Narcissa arrived on Saturday morning, asking that she and Lucius be allowed to take the children for the day.  It was implied that Hermione and Draco could spend the time to sort things out without the children taking their attention away from each other.  

 

Hermione didn’t plan on spending the day with Draco, but she could use the time to work on the flat and get the kids’ room organized, so she sent back the owl, telling her mother-in-law that she would bring the children by before lunch.

 

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When she got back to her flat, Draco sat on her couch, flipping through an issue of Witch Weekly.  Damn those sneaky Malfoys!  

 

He looked more worn out than he had in years, like he’d aged in the last few weeks.  She, on the other hand, wore a trendy pair of jeans, a sweater that showed off her round bust and small waist, and brown heeled boots.  Her long hair had been shaped to take advantage of her curls and she wore just enough makeup to enhance her naturally sweet features.

 

“What are you doing here, Draco?”

 

“We need to talk.”

 

She sat in the chair opposite him and waited.  “Go ahead.”

 

It irked him that she was so calm and why was she so dolled up?  Was it possible she was seeing someone?

 

“When are you going to end this façade of us separating and come home?  I get the message: I hurt your feelings.  You know I can be insensitive.  It’s just part of my personality.”

 

She gritted her teeth.  The way he excused his facetious behavior and disrespectful words _was_ the problem.  He still didn’t get it.

 

“I’m not coming back to the house.  I suggest you hire a housekeeper if you need the assistance.  Now, I have a lot of work to do in the next few hours so you should go.”

 

She walked to the kitchen, effectively dismissing him.  He followed her, not understanding her anger.  So what?  He’d compared her to a house-elf; it was hardly the worst he’d called her in the twenty-five years they’d known each other.  

 

“I’m not leaving.  Why are you doing this to our family?  It hardly seems right that you choose now to live out your fantasy life, with my job demanding so much of me and the kids needing your attention.”

 

“This is hardly my ‘fantasy’!  But the life I want to lead doesn’t include a man who sees me as a servant instead of a valuable partner.”

 

“Have you left me for someone?  Is it that bloke you worked with at the hospital?”

 

Taking a deep breath for patience, Hermione looked at the disheveled man before her with his wrinkled slacks and rumpled sweater, his hair which she usually cut for him every other week was a bit long about his ears, and the dark circles under his eyes from less sleep than the eight hours a night he was used to getting.  

 

“I left you for someone: me!  I love you and I’ll probably always love you, but I feel like a shell of my former self in our relationship.  For the first time in years, I feel pretty and respected.”

 

He didn’t know what to say.  Draco truly hadn’t known how unhappy his wife was in their marriage.  

 

“Hermione, you know I love you.  Please don’t do this to me,” he pleaded.

 

“You’re never going to understand why I left, are you?  It’s still all about you.”

 

She turned her back to him, refusing to look at him until his footsteps indicated he’d left the room and the whoosh of the Floo told her he’d gone.

 

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Draco contracted a housekeeper, who happened to be a Squib.  His name was Calvin and he wore a lavender and pink striped apron as he cleaned and cooked.  Calvin was good with the kids, too, so if Draco needed to work late, Calvin didn’t mind feeding them dinner and helping them get ready for the next day.    

 

Slowly, Draco’s life began to take shape in a new way.  He wasn’t happy, but he’d come to accept that Hermione wasn’t coming back and he wasn’t sure what would make her come home.  Over the years, he’d forgotten how good she was at her job, but Blaise, who was a mind Healer at St. Mungo’s, told Pansy that the hospital wanted her on track to take over the Pediatrics Ward when the current supervising Healer retired.  Instead of being happy for her, all he could think was that she was never coming home now.

 

Three months had passed since she had left and he knew the longer she was gone, the less likely it was that she would come back, but he didn’t know how to get her attention.  She was polite when they saw each other, but generally she didn’t stay near him any longer than she had to.  And the kids were adjusting to having their parents in separate houses.

 

Finally, the day he had been dreading came when a young man walked into his office at the Ministry and handed him an envelope.

 

“You’ve been served, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, bobbing his head in a farewell gesture.

 

Draco opened the envelope to find divorce papers from Hermione with her reason for the dissolution of their marriage: irreconcilable differences.

 

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He talked to the solicitor Pansy knew and told her he had absolutely no plans to divorce Hermione.

 

“Well, you can stretch out the divorce proceedings, but she’ll still have access to your vault.”

 

“She can have the money, but she has plenty of her own funds.”

 

“If you have sexual relations with anyone else, the fidelity charm you two used at your bonding ceremony will begin the divorce proceedings for you.”

 

“I don’t want to sleep with anyone else,” he said with a scowl.

 

“Mr. Malfoy, I don’t know much about either of you, but perhaps I could speak with her attorney about mediation.”

 

“Do you think that process might help persuade her to stop the divorce proceedings?”

 

“In a few rare cases that has happened, but I wouldn’t advise you to get your hopes up.”

 

“Please talk to her solicitor.  I’m willing to try anything.”

 

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Two weeks later, Draco, Hermione, and a mediator Draco had hired sat in the dining room of the house the couple had shared.  Calvin had provided a myriad of pastries, coffee, and tea.  For the first time in a while, Hermione missed this house, where she had brought home her babies and had spent countless hours with her little family. 

 

“Mrs. Malfoy, I’m Camille Hurst.  I’ve been a mediator for several years and we’re here to discuss the divorce papers you had served to Mr. Malfoy.  Is this correct?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione murmured.  “Please call me Hermione.”

 

The calm older witch smiled at Hermione and put her at ease.  

 

“Mr. Malfoy, why don’t you share with us why we’re here since you initiated the mediation?”

 

“Call me Draco, please.”

 

Camille nodded and urged him to continue.  

 

“I don’t want to divorce Hermione.”

 

Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

 

“Hermione, why did you leave?” Camille asked.

 

“After our daughter Lyra was born and I stopped working as a Healer, I put all my efforts into raising our children, keeping the house, and helping Draco prioritize his career.  It pleased me to take care of my family, but after a couple of years, I started to notice Draco was taking things for granted and barking orders at me when things weren’t done the way he liked them.  He worked late most nights, so he didn’t see the children as much as I had hoped he would.  After Leo was born he teased me about my weight and try as I might, my body changed with that last pregnancy.  I’ve never been very concerned with my looks, but those comments only served to make me self-conscious.  The last straw was when he compared what I did for our family to what a competent house elf could do.  I knew then that our relationship had changed from one where I was wife and lover to something less than desirable.”

 

“Mr. Malfoy, would you like to respond?”

 

“She’s right.  I did all of those things.  I took everything Hermione did for me and for our family for granted.”  He looked at Hermione, willing her to understand that he finally comprehended why she had to leave.  “You were right to leave, love.  It’s taken me four months, but I finally understand all the things you’ve done for our family.  I couldn’t do what you did.  And even though I have some help now, Calvin doesn’t know all the special things our family does.  Our Sunday brunches, our late night dinners, but especially the way you made sure everyone in our house was loved and taken care of.  I’m so sorry I didn’t do that for you.  If you would give me another chance, I will do everything I can to prove to you that I can be the husband you need.”

 

“Camille, will you give us a minute?” Hermione asked.

 

The mediator smiled at the couple and left the room. 

 

“I meant everything I said.  You’re an amazing witch, Hermione, and I haven’t treated you like I should have for far too long.  I’m immature and egotistical, but I love you with all my heart.  What can I do to help convince you to come back to me?”

 

She let her chin rest on her open palm and looked at the wizard she’d spent a large portion of her life with.  

 

“I don’t know, Draco.  If I agree, things aren’t going to go back to the way they were.”

 

He stood and walked to her chair, pulling her hands to get her to stand.  For the first time in too long, she let him near her.  Draco put his hands around her waist and marveled at how perfectly she fit in his arms.  

 

“I’m sorry I ever implied you were less than beautiful.  You’re absolutely stunning.”

 

He leaned down and cautiously kissed her.  She tasted like green tea and mint toothpaste, so familiar and arousing he tightened his grip on her body, pulling her into him.  She moaned into his mouth and gripped the front of his shirt.  It had been too damn long since Draco had touched her with such passion.  His tongue breached her lips and began to stroke her mouth.  After a minute, Hermione broke the kiss, remembering the other two people just a few rooms away.

 

“If I come back, I plan on staying at St. Mungo’s.  And I want to keep Calvin.”

 

Draco chuckled and kissed the top of her head.   “Okay.  What else?”

 

“You’re going to have to do more with the kids.  Help with homework, baths, and bedtime.”

 

“You’ll be happy to know that I’m actually quite adept at helping the kids now, although Lyra prefers Calvin make her school lunch and prepare breakfast.”

 

“Right.  I heard about the peas and marshmallow incident.”

 

“Exactly,” he said with a squeeze to her waist.  “This time around, _I’m_ going to work to make our marriage better.”

 

Hermione hadn’t left Draco to prove a point to him, but it seemed that had been the result of their separation. 

 

“Do you think you could ask Camille and Calvin to leave?”

 

Draco looked at Hermione’s flushed cheeks and knew exactly why she wanted the mediator and housekeeper to go.  Nothing in the world would make him happier than to have his wife in his arms, preferably naked, for a few precious hours.  

 

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_One Year Later_

 

“Lyra, Lyra, Bo-Byra!” Calvin called up the stairs.  “It’s time to leave for school, dah-ling!”

 

Draco poured himself a mug of coffee to go.  Calvin had the kids’ bags and lunches ready.

 

“Daddy, I make slime at preschool!” Leo said, putting on his little knapsack.

 

“Bring some home for me, okay?” Draco said, ruffling his son’s blond hair.  “Are you two ready?”

 

“I’m ready,” Lyra said, high-fiving Calvin for sneaking her a blueberry scone.

 

“Wait, I need kisses!” Hermione said, hurrying down the stairs.

 

When Hermione had finally taken over the Pediatrics Ward, her hours changed to a mix of nights and days, but she didn’t have to work weekends.  Weekends were for family.  

 

Lyra and Leo gave their mum hugs and she gave them kisses all over their cheeks.  She straightened and smiled at Draco.

 

“I know you’re working late, but we’re still on for date night?”

 

He kissed his lovely wife and nuzzled her ear.  “I’ll pick up dinner at Chez Phillipe if you choose the wine.”

 

“You spoil me,” Hermione said, pressing one last kiss to his cheek.  “Don’t forget to give Lyra’s teacher our supply donation.”

 

“I didn’t, but thank you for reminding me.  Have a good day at work.”

 

“You, too.  Bye my loves!” she said, waving at Draco and the kids as they made their way to their destinations.

 

Things in the Malfoy family weren’t perfect, but they were good.  _So good_ , so full of laughter, so full of everything that made family life a joy.  Hermione sighed happily as she went up the stairs to get ready for her day. 

 

 

 


	8. Dating Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione dates a slew of unacceptable men until she realizes the right one has been waiting for her to notice him all along. Written from Hermione’s point of view.

 

 

 

**13 October, 2001**

 

Tonight was the night I have decided to stop dating.  When Ron and Luna broke up, I thought the timing might be right for the two of us, but dear God, was I wrong!  Not five minutes into the date, he suggested I spit in my Butterbeer to draw out the Dibblydingers, who apparently cause stomach upset.  I began to chuckle, thinking he was making a joke at poor Luna’s expense when he took my bottle and spit into my drink!  His saliva bubbled and then sank.  I felt myself retching as he handed it back and took a long swig of his own Butterbeer.  

 

During the meal, he kept looking at my hair until I felt as if something was in it.  When I inquired, he said he thought it might be infested with Surrish Beatles.  All I heard when he said that was “you have bugs in your hair” and felt an overwhelming urge to scratch at my head for the remainder of the night.  Surrish Beatles, according to Ron, counter the ability to easily laugh, making the infested person appear more serious.  As Ron has known me for the last 12 years, I find it difficult to believe that he thinks I have some great sense of humor that has been hindered by a rubbish bug.  

 

When he walked me to the door of my flat above Flourish and Blotts, he began to lean in to kiss me.  I haven’t had a good snog in too bloody long and Ron is quite handsome, so I thought, eh, why not?  I closed my eyes and waited and within a few seconds, I heard a sound like the bubbling of water.  I opened my eyes to find Ron crying, bleeding tears streaming down the wanker’s face!  

 

“I can’t do it, Mione.  I…just... _sob_ …miss…her…so… _sob_ …much!”

 

I found a tissue in my bag and handed it to him, murmuring things like _oh, it’s hard, isn’t it?_ and _maybe_ _she’ll come around_.  Gods, I always worried that his mum would ruin Ron for other women, but it was Luna who made him into this un-dateable wuss.  

 

I know I am considered young, but I fear the dating pool is only getting smaller.  Perhaps I will get another cat.

 

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**14 October, 2001**

 

My new office mate, Draco “Ferret” Malfoy, of all people, actually got the bloody Ministry to buy him a new desk and chair.  I’ve been in this bleeding job for two years and my furniture is the same old shite they probably purchased when my department was created, those cheap tossers!  I came into work in such a crap mood after that God-awful date with Ron and to see Malfoy’s gleaming mahogany desk and buttery leather chair made me want to set Fiendfyre to the stuff.  Our idiotic boss actually had the gall to tell me, “Watch out for this one” with a friggin’ wink.  Ugh, like Malfoy is so special!

 

What made the whole thing worse is that he spent the whole damn morning arranging and rearranging his things and smirking in my general direction.  Even old Mrs. Butters came into the office to admire his new furniture, the traitor.  Why I was the only person in the department infuriated by this unfairness is a mystery to me.  

 

I spent my evening eating through a huge bag of crisps and watching some American show called _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_.  _Gods_ , Muggles have it so easy.  I could totally work as a crime scene investigator.    

 

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**20 October, 2001**

 

When I arrived at work today, a lovely bouquet of purple freesia had been placed upon my desk.  The smell of them was heavenly and the excitement over who may have given me fresh flowers was an excellent start of the day.  As I sat drinking my morning tea, Malfoy, who I have been ignoring for quite obvious reasons, asked if I liked freesia flowers. 

 

“Of course.  They’re actually my favorite,” I answered tersely, hoping he would get back to his own damn work.

 

But, it was not to be.  He came and sat on the edge of my desk, fingering the delicate petals.  I was sorely tempted to swat his hand, but I reminded myself it was better to ignore him.  

 

“They’re from my mother’s garden.  You looked like you could use a little pick-me-up, Granger.”

 

He could have told me he was old Voldy’s son and I would have been less surprised.  My ingrained manners took over before I had a chance to respond in the snarky way I usually did when it came to Malfoy.

 

“Well, thank you.  That was very thoughtful.” 

 

He smiled at me and went back to his desk, humming softly to himself.  I took the bouquet home with me, so Malfoy wouldn’t catch me smelling it all day long.  I’m sure it would only give him the wrong idea.

 

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**29 October, 2001**

 

I had a drink after work with Harry’s new Auror partner, Carmichael.  Merlin and Morgana, he had such promise!  Blond, muscular, face like a Muggle superhero.  We went to a new bar in Diagon Alley that I’d wanted to check out for a few months.  

 

To be fair to Harry, he did warn me that Carmichael was a “hands-on kind of bloke”, but I had thought he’d been referring to work, as Harry seemed to like him just fine.  Carmichael bought me a drink and we sat at a little table in a secluded corner of the bar.  At the first sip of my beverage, I felt a hand begin a trail up my thigh and it caused me to choke on my drink.  But even though all my coughing, the pervert kept pawing at my leg until I pushed back my chair and stood, still coughing.  I made my way to the loo to regain my composure.

 

To make matters worse, when I got out of the loo, Malfoy and a couple of his mates were at a table not far from ours.  I ignored him and made my way back to my date, hoping he understood that I didn’t know him well enough to enjoy his hand making its way to my goods.  

 

We talked without incident for a few minutes before Carmichael began shifting his chair closer to mine, which was fine as long as he could keep his mitts to himself.  When he was seated beside me, he pushed my hair off my shoulder and leaned in.

 

“Do you know what feels amazing?” he whispered, his mouth so close I could feel his moist breath on my ear.

 

“No, what?” I asked as neutrally as possible.  I just knew it was going to be bad before the words came out of his mouth.  My instincts told me to run as far away as possible, but I would never live it down with Malfoy if he saw me literally running away from a date.

 

“I love it when a girl licks my arsehole.”

 

Instead of scoffing or murmuring my assent, I began to giggle.  What a bloody bizarre thing to say to someone on a first date!  I began to laugh so hard I was crying, tears streaming down my face.  I put my head down on the table and my body continued to shake with uncontrollable laughter.  When I finally got ahold of myself and looked at Carmichael, I could tell he was upset.  

 

“I don’t think this is going to work out,” he said stiffly, putting on his coat.

 

I began to giggle again, but finally got out a few words.  “No, I imagine it won’t.”

 

As he walked out, I went into another fit of laughter, shaking my head as the handsome Auror stalked out of the bar.  But I stopped laughing when Malfoy came over to my table.  

 

“Yes?” I said, collecting my purse so I could go home and try to catch another episode of that fascinating show, _CSI_ , if I could be so lucky.

 

“Everything alright over here?”

 

He genuinely seemed concerned, but it could also be fodder for taking the piss out of me at a later date.  

 

“Par for the course, I suppose.  Just another failed attempt at dating,” I said with a grin and walked out of the bar.

 

I’m not sure why I shared that with him.  We’re not friends and generally not even friendly, but I suppose we share a space several hours a day, five days a week and it makes it feel like there’s some camaraderie there.  It’s unfortunate Malfoy and I have such a bad history.  He’s annoying, but I don’t think he’s doing it maliciously, he just irks me with his perfect looks and charming words that work on most everyone but me.  

 

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**1 November, 2001**

 

Malfoy was in a bloody horrendous mood today!  I got to work just as he had clearly spilled a cup of coffee on his pristine white shirt.  It must have burned him as well, because he was cursing like a scorched dragon trainer.  I would have offered to help, but it’s unlikely he would have accepted.  He’s so conscientious of his appearance that he actually keeps a second set of clothes behind our office door, so he shooed me out of the office so he could change, which annoyed the crap out of me.  I would have used the facilities to change if the tables had been turned.  

 

Old Mrs. Butters, our office secretary, was out today and in her place was a witch, probably the same age as my mum, who kept coming into the office and fawning over him, presenting him with her considerable rack.  I could hardly hide my glee at his discomfort, which I believe made the situation even worse for him.  He kept shooting me death glares every time he heard me stifling a laugh.

 

By three, I was getting pretty tired of hearing him cursing and grumbling, or sighing with apparent disgust at every paper he touched.

 

“What’s the problem, Malfoy?” I finally asked.

 

“Nothing,” he grumbled, not even looking up at me.

 

“No, seriously.  You’ve been out of sorts all day.  So, what?  You spilled coffee on yourself.  It happens to the best of us.  And that tacky bint hit on you.  Aren’t you used to being hit on?  I see witches approach you all the bloody time.”

 

He peered up at me, straightening slightly.  “Do you really want to know?”

 

“Yes.  I plan on working at home if you continue with this,” I waved my hand in his direction, “behavior.”

 

He sighed, looking at me with a sadness I didn’t expect.  “Today is the Day of the Dead.  Some of the older wizarding families celebrate the lives of their ancestors on this day.  My mother asked me to come with her to our family’s plot to visit my father’s grave.”

 

_Oh.  Well._   Now I felt like an insensitive bitch.  I actually knew of other families who believed the Veil was at its thinnest on this day and that their loved ones might visit them.  Malfoy was so pragmatic and almost as anti-Divination as I was, so I never thought his family would care about something like the Day of the Dead.  But Lucius Malfoy had only been dead about a year, so perhaps Mrs. Malfoy wanted a bit of closure and hoped to get it on this day.    

       

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.  I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“It’s alright,” he said, getting back to work.  

 

The rest of the day was quiet and I wanted to say something nice to him, but our encounters weren’t usually kind.  Maybe it was time that changed.  Thank Merlin it was Friday and I would have a chance to recover from my gauche mistake and figure out what I could do to ease the enmity between the two of us.

 

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**4 November, 2001**

 

I made an effort to be polite to Malfoy today.  It started with greeting him this morning and smiling.  He smiled back and I got this weird fluttering in my chest.  My cheeks actually started to heat, but I immediately sat at my desk and began to check my inbox.  Gods, I must be pretty hard up if Malfoy’s greeting flusters me.  Maybe I’ll take up Cormac on his offer for lunch.  It couldn’t be as awkward as feeling like the Ferret and I are flirting.

 

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**5 November, 2001**

 

It appears I have hit rock bottom in terms of dating.  Yesterday I told Cormac McLaggen I would accept his offer of lunch.  So, I dressed up a bit for work this morning, spending a bit of effort to make sure my unruly curls spiraled and bounced like a bloody shampoo commercial.  I thought I looked nice.  No, dammit, I did look nice.  Even a bit sexy, truth be told.

 

Cormac and I met in the lobby of the Ministry, where I had assumed we would depart to a restaurant, perhaps the new Italian place in Diagon Alley.  Ha!  He guided me to the bloody Ministry cafeteria, where I paid for my own food!  For an entire hour, I got to hear him brag about some new filing system he implemented in the Ministry Records Office, where he was apparently an assistant to the director.

 

“So, next time will you be making me dinner?” he asked with a leer, as if we’d had a smashing good time.  

 

_Wow_.  Just… _wow_.  

 

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” I said, gathering my purse and running/walking away from the Ministry cafeteria, the place where dating dreams go to die.  

 

Cormac is a good-looking bloke, but I remembered why I kept rejecting his offers for lunch: he is boring, cheap, and self-absorbed.  Even if he has a ten-inch cock and knows how to use it, I never, ever want to go out with him again.  Bloody git.

 

When I got back to my office, Malfoy asked about my date and laughed when I told him it had been more of a lunch meeting than a date.  

 

“The cafeteria, Granger?” he guffawed.  

 

“Oh, shut it, Malfoy,” I grumbled. 

 

I called my mum later that night and she _oh my_ -ed and _oh no_ -ed in all the right places as I told her the story of my newest shite date.

 

“And this young man you share an office with?  Darko, is it?”

 

I snorted and imagined sometime in the near future, I would probably slip and call Malfoy my mum’s moniker for Draco.  “No, Mum, it’s Draco.  What about him?”

 

“Well, he sounds nice.  I like that he brought you flowers from his mother’s garden.  That was very thoughtful.”

 

“I don’t think I’m his type,” I explained.

 

“Oh?  He doesn’t like beautiful, brilliant young ladies?”

 

“I’m sure he does, Mum, but not me.”

 

“Hermione Jean, that boy likes you, from everything you’ve told me.  You should give him a chance.”

 

“If he asks me on a date, I’ll be sure to accept,” I said, rolling my eyes at my phone.  

 

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**12 November, 2001**

 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Malfoy asked after we finished a particularly tough Arithmancy calculation our boss had assigned the two of us.  

 

“Maybe I’ll visit my parents on Saturday.  My mum said she wanted to take me shopping.”

 

“Sounds exciting, Granger,” he said sarcastically.

 

“And you?  Attending the beheading of a baby?”

 

“What?  Merlin, Hermione, you’re so odd.  No, no beheadings this weekend.  I have a date on Saturday.”

 

“Oh?” I said, feigning disinterest.  Why did I feel slightly betrayed?  There was nothing between us.  My stomach tightened a bit uncomfortably and those stupid butterflies returned because he called me Hermione.  _Jesus H. Christ_ , I’m pathetic.  

 

“You’ll be amused to know my mother set us up.  I can hardly wait,” he said acerbically.

 

The knot in my belly loosened slightly, but if I knew anything about these Malfoys, Narcissa was sure to have set up her son with someone beautiful, accomplished, rich, and pure-blooded.  

 

“Have fun,” I mumbled, pointedly looking at my desk and gathering my things to leave.

 

He gave me the strangest look as I left the office for the weekend.  He really was a weird one.

 

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**15 November, 2001**

 

Today I resolved to start the week with a fresh outlook.  I’d really thought about my dating problems over the weekend and I was beginning to think the common factor in all those situations was _me_.  I’m an open-minded individual, right?  Maybe licking an… _oh, Gods_ , I can’t even finish that sentence.  I never want to lick _anyone’s_ arsehole.  And Ron is already back with Luna, so it isn’t really my fault that didn’t work out.  

 

Marcus Flint is a friend of Ginny’s and she’s told me he’s asked about me a few times over the past couple of months.  I’ll preface what I’m about to say with this:  my parents are both dentists.  They make people’s teeth healthier and beautiful.  You know how some Muggles say “Cleanliness is next to Godliness”?  Well, in my house, it was something like “Dental hygiene is next to Godliness”.  And after wearing braces for so long, I do place some value on straight teeth.  Having beautiful teeth has been something I take a lot of pride in and I find attractive in a man.  Even though he’s a git, Malfoy has gorgeous teeth.  Okay, back to Marcus…his teeth were always a bit wonky, but after all these years of Quidditch, he’s actually missing a couple of teeth as well.  On the plus side, he’s quite fit and has thick hair.  Onward and upward: I’m starting with a clean slate and I told Gin I would go out with Marcus if she set us up.     

 

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**19 November, 2001**

 

I could not get past his teeth.  Or the incessant Quidditch monologue.  And he smelled a bit like musty laundry.  And boiled beef.  

 

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**20 November, 2001**

 

“So, I hear you went out with Marcus Flint this weekend.”

 

I looked up, surprised news traveled so quickly in Slytherin circles.  

 

“I did,” I said cryptically.

 

Malfoy looked at me for a moment, before getting back to his work.  

 

“Couldn’t get past his teeth, eh?”

 

I was about to protest, but Malfoy seemed to understand me better than I liked to think.

 

“No,” I said with a sigh.  

 

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**23 November, 2001**

 

“So, don’t be mad…”

 

Whenever Mum starts a conversation this way, I just know it’s going to be bad.  

 

“Yes?” I asked cautiously.  

 

“Well, you know the new dentist Dad and I hired, so we could free up our schedules a bit?  He’s single, love, and I told him all about you and showed him your picture.  Anyway, he’s expecting your call sometime in the next day or so.  I’ve emailed you his number.”

 

“Oh, Mum,” I protested.  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

 

“Why?  He’s well-educated, has lovely manners, and Dougie is…tall.”

 

“His name is Dougie?”

 

“Hermione, don’t be judgmental!  I’m sure it’s a childhood nickname that stuck.  The girls in the front office are just crazy about him.”

 

“ _Mum_ , you’re his _boss_.  Don’t you think that bullying him into a date with your daughter is a bit much?”    

 

“Just call him, dear.  Please.  For me.”

 

“How exactly is this for you?” I asked, my mood beginning to sour.

 

She harrumphed and I knew she’d never let up until I called the bloke.  

 

“Fine.  I’ll call.”

 

“I really do think you’ll like him once you get to know him,” she said, the smug voice of a mother who’s gotten her way.

 

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**28 November, 2001**

 

_Hermione Granger: Men who date her want to show off their worst side._

 

I think that will be my new tag line on all documents, emails, and personal correspondence.  I’m convinced I have bad dating karma, although I’m not sure why.  Yes, I’m somewhat picky, but I want to be with a man who makes me laugh, enjoys intellectual stimulation, and wets my knickers.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

 

Dr. Dougie and I went to a decent pub where we talked about politics and Muggle news, and he told me about university and his family.  Because he’s a Muggle, I couldn’t tell him much, except generalities, but he didn’t seem to mind as it gave him more opportunities to talk.  Honestly, of the dates I’ve recently been on, it wasn’t bad.  Until…Gods, there’s always an until or a but with me, isn’t there?

 

We were talking in his car outside my parents’ house and he leaned in, so I closed my eyes, thinking he was going to kiss me and he grabs my face with his freaking banana hands and pries my mouth open.  

 

“I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve got a bit of buildup on your lower incisors.  You should come into the office and let me take care of that for you.”

 

_Oh.  My.  God._   He continued looking around and poked a fucking finger into my mouth until I was able to wrench my face away.  How humiliating!

 

“I’ll call you,” he said with a friendly grin.

 

I smiled back with the smile my friends call the “Dementor’s Kiss”. 

 

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” I said, my voice cold, like dry ice.

 

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he said, looking a tad uncomfortable.

 

“If you ever want to get shagged, never, ever mention oral hygiene during a first date.  It’s not sexy, it’s rude, and it’s unhygienic to put your unwashed finger into someone’s mouth!  And I’ll have you know I have excellent brushing and flossing habits!” I yelled, slamming the car door to punctuate my point.  What an arse!

 

As soon as his car sped off, I Apparated to my flat and brushed my teeth for five minutes straight.  Bleh.  

 

I am officially done dating.   

 

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**5 December, 2001**

 

Since I’ve prohibited all future dating activities, I have freed up space to focus on things I haven’t thought about sufficiently.  The first thing I’ve decided to do is fix up my flat.  I’ve lived here for over a year and haven’t done much more than put down a few of my meager possessions.  I am a witch and a damn good Transfigurationist, and further, I actually have time and some money to make my flat a sanctuary. 

 

So I hit the shoppes today and got new posh bedding, lovely curtains, fluffy spa towels…well, the list could go on and on, but my flat is going to be the calmest, most beautiful place in all of London.  

 

When I got home, I quickly Summoned my things from each room, shrunk them and placed them in a box.  From there, I painted the walls in a very light grey called “Sea Salt”.  What a difference a bit of color makes and it pops against the white crown moulding and dark wood floors.

 

My 1980s-style bookshelves were Transfigured into white shelves that match the flat’s woodwork.  My couch got a color change thanks to a quick _Mutatio Umbra_ , a nifty spell Ginny taught me to mix up my wardrobe.  The couch is now a warm mushroom color and I was even able to change the texture to a soft velvety fabric instead of the old, worn fabric it was before.  I draped a white merino wool throw over the back and I must say, even I’m impressed with myself.

 

I looked through my photographs and found a few to _Engorgio_ and frame.  I’d bought oversized black frames with crisp white mattes and the pictures made me smile every time I looked at my family and friends’ smiling faces.  The photos and my books, colors that soothed me, fabrics that enveloped me like a hug, all of these changes made me feel much more comfortable in the space I’d called home, but never really got comfortable in.

 

_Merlin and Morgana_ , when I finished, my flat looked gorgeous!  And I didn’t spend the day feeling sorry for myself, worrying that I’m not good enough to attract someone I’m mad about.  I’ve decided I’m going to be mad about _me_.

 

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**7 December, 2001**

 

“Good weekend?” Malfoy asked me when we got into work today.

 

I grinned at the blond and nodded.  “Yours?”

 

“Pretty good.  I caught the new exhibit at the Tate.  Have you seen it?”

 

“No, I haven’t.  I must say, I’m pretty impressed you ventured to a Muggle museum.  Was it your first time?”

 

“Since the war ended, I’ve made it my mission to learn about England’s Muggle treasures and the Tate is one of them.  I do something Muggle almost every weekend.”

 

I felt my good mood bolstered by Malfoy’s newfound appreciation of the deep and intricate history of Muggle England.  Most of the wizards I knew stayed in magical areas and tended to ignore all the wonderful resources on the other side of the Leaky.  

 

Even my interactions with Malfoy were more pleasant now that I wasn’t worried about how he sees me as a witch.  We are congenial coworkers.  He must sense that I’m less stressed, because he’s more relaxed around me, too.   

 

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**12 December, 2001**

 

I subsidize my rent for my little flat above F&B by working the register two evenings per week.  It’s a win-win for me because I get an employee discount as well.  I would never say this to anyone, but I much prefer working at the bookstore to my job at the Ministry.  I work for the Department of Magical Cooperation, but to be honest, I’m still not sure exactly what it is I’m supposed to be doing.  I do calculations, statistical analysis, and research for the department, but the senior members present my work as part of their bigger projects.  I have a suspicion that the department made up my job in a bid to have a war heroine on their staff.

 

When I was working last night, Malfoy came in looking for a present for his mum’s birthday.  Apparently, she enjoys fiction of a rather erotic bent.

 

“Is this any good?” he asked me, pointing to a book about a triad of lesbian witches.

 

“I haven’t read them, but it’s popular with some witches and a quite a few wizards.”

 

He pulled a list out of his pocket and handed it to me.  “She suggested these authors.”

 

I really try not to laugh in these situations, but the idea of Draco’s mum getting all hot and bothered while she read about Merlin’s throbbing wand was too much.

 

“What’s funny?” 

 

I opened the book to the middle, where the good stuff started to happen in most romance stories, found a passage, and handed him the book.  His eyes widened comically and he shut the book in a rush.

 

“Why…what the…great Salazar…” he muttered.  

 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I said, beginning to walk away, when he grabbed my hand.

 

“Please, please you have to help me.  Just pick a few for me, Granger.”

 

“Hmm…I don’t think so.  Happy pickings!” 

 

I didn’t see him after I slipped back to my post at the register, so I assumed he made his way out of the store, but a couple of minutes before closing, he was at the register, a huge pile of books in his arms.  

 

“Were you here the whole time?” I asked.

 

He shrugged.  “Yeah.”

 

“Were you reading the book about the triad of witches?” 

 

“Maybe,” he said, a hint of a smirk on his lips.  “I no longer judge my mother for reading this tripe.”

 

He paid, but didn’t leave, milling around the front display as I cleaned up for the night and balanced the register.

 

“I’ve got to close up, Malfoy,” I said, ready to cast the wards to scare off intruders.  

 

“Would you like to go for a drink?” he asked.

 

I stared at him for a moment.  “I actually could really go for a cuppa.  My flat is upstairs.  I picked up a really good caramel chai the other day.”

 

He looked shocked at my invitation, probably as shocked as I looked when he offered his.

 

“Yeah, that would be great.  I’ve always wanted to see what the flats above the store looked like.”

 

“Let me cast the wards and we can go upstairs.”

 

He followed me up to my flat through the storeroom.  

 

“How long have you lived here,” he asked as I opened my door.

 

“A little over a year,” I said, casting _Lumos_ on the lamps around the space.  I was suddenly very glad I’d taken the time to make my humble abode into something slightly better.  “You can look around if you want while I start our tea.”

 

It was weird, but I trusted him to be respectful of my space.  He never touched my desk, except to put something on it.  He’d even brought me a muffin a couple of days ago and placed it on my desk before I got to work.  But this was the first time we’d spent any time together outside of work and I wasn’t really sure what it meant.  

 

When I came out to the living room with a tea tray and a few gingerbread bicuits I’d made the other day, I found him looking at the black and white photos I’d framed when I’d done my flat decorating.  

 

“Your parents?” He pointed to a photo of my parents off the coast of Greece from last summer.

 

“They went to Greece for their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”

 

“You look like your mother,” he observed.  “She’s pretty.”

 

“Thank you,” I murmured, recognizing the indirect compliment to me.  

 

“Is this your brother?” he asked about a picture of my cousin.  

 

“No, I’m an only child.  That’s my cousin, Mark.  He’s two years older than me.”

 

“Are you close?”

 

I sat on a cozy chair across from the sofa where Draco was sitting and took a cup of the fragrant drink.  It was nice to sit and have tea with someone.  I’d been spending a lot of time alone lately.

 

“We used to be, when we were children.  They lived a few houses away from us and his parents took care of me quite a bit before I was school age.”

 

“I don’t have any family except my mother,” Draco said, taking a sip of the piping hot beverage.  

 

I don’t know any wealthy pure-bloods like the Malfoys and before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Will your mother try to arrange a marriage for you?”

 

He started to laugh.  “She’d like to, but since I’m the head of the Malfoy family, the decision is up to me.  I humor her and take out the witches she sets me up with, but I don’t have anything in common with most of them, except being a pure-blood and rich.”

 

I smiled at him, happy that he wouldn’t have that part of his future decided for him.  I knew Malfoy had towed the line for his family for far too long.  At least his marriage could be a genuine love match.

 

“Care to tell me how Weasley ended up with Lovegood instead of you?”

 

“We figured out we weren’t good together in a romantic way.  It was mutual and I’m glad Ron and Luna have each other.  What about you?  I heard you dated Astoria Greengrass for a while.”

 

“Tori really is a lovely witch, but the chemistry wasn’t there.  Are you dating anyone now?”

 

I contemplated telling him no and leaving the conversation at that, but we were actually talking like friends and I wanted to be honest with him.  

 

“No.  I’ve actually decided to put off dating for a while.  I’ve had bad date after bad date and I think it has something to do with me and the type of men I’m attracting.  I think when the time is right, I’ll meet the right man.”

 

He looked contemplative as he considered my words.  “How will you know who the right man is?”

 

I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But it feels good to voluntarily take myself out of the dating equation.  I feel much more myself than I have in a long time.”

 

He looked at me and I felt those familiar butterflies flutter in my chest.  “I can tell.  You’ve seemed lighter…more settled…the past few weeks.”

 

“You know, I really do feel much more comfortable in my own skin.”  I found myself blushing at his words. 

 

He went home after that, taking my Floo back to Malfoy Manor.  That night I found myself dreaming of an indistinct man with light hair and a wicked smile.

 

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**20 December, 2001**

 

I was a shopping with Mum today, looking for a gift for Dad.  We were at the bookstore, because it wouldn’t be Christmas without books under the tree, and I found Anne Rice’s _Sleeping Beauty Trilogy_.  I haven’t read the books, but I’ve always liked her vampire stories and even her witch stories, although some of the stuff is impossible even in the magical world.  Even so, good fiction is good fiction, right?

 

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**23 December, 2001**

 

_Merlin, Merlin, Merlin!_  

 

I ran home at lunch because I forgot Malfoy’s gift and when I came back to the office, I overheard Malfoy, who I later learned was with Gregory Goyle, talking about _me_!  And I listened, like an absolute creeper, at the door, even going so far as to Disillusion myself.  Nothing good ever comes from listening in on a conversation…well, except that I learned some things about Malfoy I didn’t know before.  

 

“Have you talked to her yet?” Goyle asked him.

 

“One step forward, two steps back,” Draco said with a sigh.  

 

Greg chuckled.  “She’s the only bird seems to be immune to your charms.”

 

“Gods, with any other witch, I’d be fending off non-stop engagement hints, but Hermione will flirt with the maintenance wizards before she’d even think of flirting with me.”

 

I’d invited him to my flat, so I didn’t think I was totally immune to his charms, but I’m on a dating hiatus.  It wouldn’t be a hiatus if I threw myself at him, now would it?

 

“Those Gryffindors aren’t like us, mate.  You need to be upfront with her.  You were a right prick with her when we were younger, so she’s probably wand-shy with you, too.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.  But you should see the blokes she dates.  They’re bloody awful.”

 

“Aye, she’s one of those witches that started out kinda odd, but she’s a looker now, for sure.  She probably doesn’t realize she could do better.”

 

“I just don’t know if she thinks I’m any better than those losers.”

 

“You switched departments to be near her, mate.  Come on, don’t puss out now.  You’ve gotta buck up and tell her how you feel.  She’ll see you’re not that arsehole-y little chap you were in school.”

 

He’d moved departments to be near _me_?  But…but, we hadn’t even spoken more than two words to each other in years.  I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I ran to the loo and cast a Finite, my body appearing once again.  Taking a deep breath, I walked to my office, head high and stride purposeful.  It was a shock to find out Malfoy liked me in _that_ way, but the knowledge wasn’t unwelcome.  

 

I went about the rest of my day no different than before, but when it was time to go, I murmured a _happy Christmas_ to Malfoy and left my gift on his desk.  Not exactly my most courageous moment, but what was I going to tell him?  That I listened to him and his friend for a good three minutes?  No way.  If he wanted me, he was going to have to work for it.  I had decided over my little dating moratorium that one of my problems was giving in too easily to “losers”, as Malfoy had described my former dates.  I knew he wasn’t necessarily one of those wizards, but my affections came at a higher price these days. 

 

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**December 25, 2001**

 

Mum, Dad, and I celebrated Christmas this morning with presents and a big noontime meal, but after luncheon I decided to go back to my flat and enjoy my new books and put away the gorgeous new clothes my mum had gifted me.  The family time really was nice, but I couldn’t wait to get into my jammies, bust out the raspberry and chocolate trifle Molly had sent me home with the previous evening, and get started on a _CSI_ marathon on the telly. 

 

Six hours later, my belly was full to bursting with custardy goodness and a bit (okay, more than a bit) of wine and I was cuddled into an old quilt watching my show when the Floo alerted me to a call.

 

“Granger?” a male voice called.  The only male I knew who called me by my surname was Malfoy.

 

_Fuck!_   I was a mess and no doubt he was looking his smooth, debonaire self.  

 

“Yes?” I called, refusing to get anywhere near the Floo where he’d be able to see me.

 

“It’s Draco.  May I come through?”

 

“Um, now’s not a good time.”

 

“Oh, okay.  I have a Christmas gift for you, but I can owl it to you—“

 

“No!  Just give me ten minutes.”

 

“See you in ten,” he called out and then the flames died down and I fled to my bedroom, tearing off my jammies and putting on the jeans and sweater I had worn earlier that day.

 

I ran to the loo and was pleased to see I didn’t look as slovenly as I felt.  My hair was still moderately frizz-free, so I ran back to the sitting room and cleaned up the evidence of my binging.  Just as I was turning off the telly, Malfoy Floo’d into the flat. 

 

“Hey,” he said, looking a bit shy.  “Did you have a good Christmas day?” 

 

“I spent the morning and early afternoon with my parents, which was nice.  Can I get you some wine?  Or tea?”

 

“Whatever you’re having.”  

 

He followed me to the kitchen and I poured us each a glass of wine.

 

“Did you spend the day with your mother?” I asked.  

 

Since finding out about his interest in me, I had thought about it on and off incessantly for the past few days.  Even in the face of my hostility when he began working in my department, he had been amused rather than retaliatory.  All the kind gestures he’d showed me had been interpreted as his way of burying the hatchet so we could work together rather than his way of showing me his interest.  Honestly, after our childhood enmity, it was hard to believe he would ever see me as more than an interloper in the magical world.  I hadn’t given him the chance to share much more than cursory information with me.

 

He sighed.  “That was the plan, but she ended up claiming illness this morning before breakfast.”

 

“Oh.  So, what did you do?”

 

“Well, I had some free time and I received a set of books from my office mate, so I read the first one.”  He smirked at me then and I blushed.  I actually hadn’t read those particular books, although I loved _Interview With A Vampire_ and _Taltos_. 

 

“I like that author,” and at that, he raised one eyebrow at me and smirked again.  “What?  Were the books not to your liking?”

 

“They were very much to my liking, I’m just not sure what to make of the message.”

 

I shrugged since I wasn’t sure exactly _why_ I got him that gift.  It was probably time to get myself to a Muggle bookstore post haste and find out what I had given him.

 

I took us back to the sitting room and we sat on the couch.  

 

“How’s the no-dating thing going?” he asked.

 

“Easier than I expected, since no one has asked me out in a while.  Well, that’s not true.  One of the witches from the Transportation Department asked me out for a drink,” I explained with a grin.

 

“Ah, those Transportation witches must have good taste.  It’s too bad you couldn’t go out with her.”

 

“Indeed,” I said with a giggle.  It was nice to be silly with Malfoy, since I was generally considered the serious one in most situations.  “How about you?  Has your mum set you up with anyone else recently?”

 

“Well, no.  I told her I was interested in someone, so she stopped her harassment, at least for the time being.”

 

I nodded, not quite ready to delve into his statement.  

 

“That’s good,” I murmured.

 

“Do you want to open my gift?”

 

I perked up, excited to see what kind of gift Malfoy could have possibly found for me.  

 

The gift was an envelope-sized thin box wrapped in iridescent pink paper and tied with a silver ribbon.  I opened the beautifully wrapped gift carefully and found a certificate for a set of four lessons on magical book restoration.  It was easily the nicest gift I’d received in years.  I met his eyes to find him watching me with a softness foreign to the Draco Malfoy I’d known most of my life.  

 

“Do you like it?”

 

I scooted a bit closer to him and kissed his cheek.  

 

“It’s the nicest gift I got this year.”

 

He smiled and it made my heart skip a beat to see his pleasure at my happiness.  It was an unexpected, sweet moment, probably the best moment I’d had with a man in God knows how long.  He left not long after that and I couldn’t help but replay the visit and his kindness.

 

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**December 29, 2001**

 

I was reading at the new tea shoppe in Diagon Alley and lo and behold, Malfoy walked in.  He joined me and we ended up talking for three hours.  He said his mum had borrowed the book I gave him for Christmas, which he seemed to find quite hilarious.  I do hope she likes it.

 

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**January 1, 2002**

 

_Too.  Much.  Champagne._   Oh, Gods, my head.

 

George throws a great New Year’s bash, but Merlin, he must have added something extra to the champagne.  Gin, Luna, and I danced like strippers to Led Zeppelin, which made the boys howl with laughter.  When the couples headed out after midnight, their arms wrapped around each other and eyes shining with lust and happiness, I found myself thinking it might be time to end my moratorium on dating.  I’d taken several weeks to reassess my attempts at dating and part of my problem was that before the date even began, I found myself imagining a life with the wizard in question, complete with a sweet cottage, two beautiful children, and a loving relationship that made me feel complete.  But romantic relationships are built, just like I’ve built my career or my relationship with my friends.  There are no shortcuts, especially with love.  

 

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**January 8, 2002**

 

After a bloody horrendous dressing down by our boss for failing to tell him some of the statistical review we’d done had been more theoretical than actual (which he should have figured out for himself, the idiot), I decided to take myself out for lunch in Muggle London.  Malfoy followed me out of the office as I trudged away from the bland walls and dingy floors.  

 

When we hit the Muggle street outside of the Ministry, I turned to him and let out a groan of frustration.  

 

“Come on,” he said, taking my arm and leading me to quiet little sandwich restaurant.  

 

In all my years, I had been admonished for poor performance a tiny handful of times.  This was by far the worst, since our work was not the problem, but that we were surrounded by intellectually lazy people who needed every blasted thing explained. 

 

I ordered a cup of soup and Malfoy ordered a sandwich.  We sat at a little table in a secluded corner.

 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

 

No doubt he was irritated, but he seemed much less upset than I was.  

 

“Sure,” I said, slumping in my chair and trying not to give into tears, which sometimes happened when I was feeling frustrated.  

 

“Why are you doing this job?  Don’t get me wrong, you’re very good at it, but you hardly seem passionate about it.”

 

The waitress brought out our food and we began to eat.  Finally, I worked up the courage to admit what Draco so obviously saw.

 

“I’m _not_ happy in this job.  Honestly, I don’t even know what the purpose is of half the assignments I do.”

 

“Why don’t you look for a new job?”

 

I took a spoonful of the tangy soup and shook my head.  “I guess I keep thinking it will get better.”

 

“It’ll never get better if the work isn’t meaningful to you.”  His insight was the tipping point and my eyes beginning to well with tears.

 

“You’re right,” I murmured, wiping my eyes as quickly as I could.  He handed me a silky handkerchief, which I took gratefully.

 

“Any career ideas?” he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.  

 

“I’ve got plenty of ideas, but when it comes to narrowing them down, I find myself in the throes of analysis paralysis.”

 

“Analysis what?”

 

“Analysis paralysis.  Means you overthink your options and are unable to make a decision.  There are so many career choices I’d consider, but the idea of making a change and then finding out I don’t like it…that scares me.”

 

“So instead of moving into a job you might like more, you stay in one you don’t like?  Doesn’t sound reasonable to me.”

 

“Some Gryffindor I am,” I said with a watery chuckle.  “What if it turns out I’m one of those people who are very good at school and very bad at life?”

 

“Why would you think that?”

 

“Have you met me, Malfoy?  I’m kind of a disaster.”

 

“No, not a disaster, not at all.  Do you think you’re exempt from trying to find your way?”

 

He was absolutely right.  

 

“Of course not.”

 

“I wonder if some of your personal frustrations stem from you not heeding your intuition,” he said pensively.  

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Certain things don’t feel right to you, but you do them anyway.  Is there anything that you enjoy that you’d like to do more of, but you worry that it’s not the ‘right’ thing to do?”

 

“I like working at the bookstore,” I admitted.  

 

“You think your talents would be wasted there.”

 

I nodded and took a spoonful of soup.  Working in a bookstore wasn’t impressive, not like working in a high profile department for the Ministry.  Gods, was I this shallow?

 

“When you start to do what’s right for you, other things will fall into place.”

 

“Do you really think so?” I asked.  

 

“Yeah, I do, Granger.”

 

We walked back to the Ministry and the defeat I’d felt earlier had given way to a sense of possibility.  Malfoy was too right.  I was a round peg in a square hole: in my job, with the men I’d been dating, even in the way I brushed my poor hair into submission.  I began percolating a plan for the future. 

 

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**January 20, 2002**

 

“Why don’t you invite Darko to the dinner party?” Mum asked.

 

I groaned.  “ _Draco_ , Mum.  Is there a reason I need to have a date?  Do I even have to go to your dinner party?”

 

“Dad and I are always telling everybody about our brilliant daughter and our friends haven’t seen you in ages.  Let me know who you decide to invite.  Talk soon!” 

 

She gets craftier the older she gets, I’ll give her that.  Granted, I enjoy Draco’s company and I know he’s acclimated to the Muggle world, but to have him come to my parents’ home?  I’d have to think about it.

 

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**January 22, 2002**

 

_Oh, God_.  I just finished the first Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty book.  Dear Merlin!  Good Godric!  What have I done?  I don’t think I will ever be able to eye contact with Malfoy ever again. 

 

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**January 27, 2002**

 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked. 

 

“Fine, fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on the parchment in front of me.

 

“Did I say something offensive?  I know I can be a bit awkward at times.”

 

_Courage!  Bravery!_   I chanted to myself.

 

“No, actually, it’s…well, the books I gave you for Christmas…um…I didn’t know exactly what they were about.  I really like her other books and…Merlin… I’m just so embarrassed!”  I couldn’t even look at him and covered my face with my hands.

 

It was quiet for a moment and then he began to laugh.  I peeked through my fingers to find him looking at me and shaking his head.

 

“I knew you hadn’t read them, Hermione.  It was still a fun set of books to read.  Mother loved them.”

 

“She must think I’m some kind of…of…deviant!”

 

He snorted.  “Hardly.  She saw the books as an allegory for a woman’s place in the upper echelons of society.”

 

“Really?  Oh, thank Merlin.”

 

“So, are we okay?”

 

His expression was so sincere, I suddenly felt awful for having ignored him all week.  

 

“I think so.  What can I do to make it up to you?” I asked.

 

“Hmm.  Maybe take me to a Muggle activity?”

 

Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone.  

 

“Well, my parents are having a dinner party this weekend.  Have you been in a Muggle home?”

 

“No, I haven’t.  Your parents won’t mind?”

 

_If only you knew_ , I thought. 

 

“They won’t mind.”

 

His answering grin caused me to smile back at him.  My mother was going to be so pleased.

 

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**January 31, 2002**

 

My parents’ Floo connection was rarely used, but I’d granted Malfoy Floo access.  My mother was beside herself to meet Draco.  My dad didn’t seem to care about my love life, although I do think he would like to see me with a nice young man.

 

I wore a very cool sheath dress in a royal blue and gold sari print.  It was one of the items my parents had gifted me for Christmas and my mum was thrilled at seeing me dressed up.  She pulled me into her bedroom and put siren red lipstick on me.

 

“Perfect.  Your Draco won’t know what hit him,” she said with a smile.  

 

I was suddenly nervous.  I looked good, I knew Malfoy liked me, but my fear that this would be another disaster of a date had crept up on me.

 

“I really like him,” I admitted to my mum.  

 

She smoothed my hair and gave me a knowing gaze.  “I know you do.  From everything you’ve told me, he reciprocates your feelings.”

 

I let took a deep breath.  “You’re right.  It’ll be fine.”

 

“It’ll be better than fine, love.”

 

My dad popped his head into the bedroom.  “Your friend is here, Hermi.”

 

Mum and I made our way to the fireplace to find Draco looking at the stereo system with interest.  

 

“Hello, Mrs. Granger,” he said cordially.  “Thank you so much for having me in your home.”

 

“We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Draco,” she said.  “I’ll let Hermione help you settle in while I finish my party preparations.”

 

She winked at me and made her way to the kitchen.

 

“You look lovely,” Draco said, his eyes travelling my form.

 

“Thank you,” I said, blushing.  “Can I show you the house?”

 

After the tour, guests began to arrive and we sat for dinner.  I sat beside Malfoy and the other guests ignored us after asking us questions for a few minutes.  My parents had told their friends I worked for the government, and I usually told Muggles I analyzed data, which had the desired effect of making people’s eyes glaze over and quickly change the subject.  Malfoy and I spent the meal chatting with each other as my parents served course after course.  Mum kept sneaking glances at me and I could tell she was delighted with Draco.  He was courteous, handsome, and most importantly, interested in me.

 

Though it was cold, we excused ourselves and headed to the back garden with our steaming cups of coffee.  Something I admired about Malfoy was his ability to know how to act in a myriad of situations.  He might think he was awkward at times, but usually he had impeccable manners.  

 

“Oh, I took my first book restoration lesson,” I said and excitedly told him about learning to check for book enchantments.  “Mr. Seger said I was a natural.”

 

“No doubt you are,” he said, inching closer to me for a bit of extra warmth.  I wandlessly cast a warming charm and we both relaxed a bit against the chill of the night air.  “So, Mother wanted me to extend an invitation to you for tea next Saturday.”

 

“Your mother?” I said stupidly, which made him chuckle.

 

“Yes, Granger, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy.”

 

“But…why?  It’s about those books, isn’t it?” I groaned.

 

“No, not exactly,” he said, running a hand through his hair.  “Look, I fancy you.  A lot, actually.  I know you’ve had quite a few horrid dates the past few months, but—“

 

I pressed my lips to his in answer.  We’d been hanging out consistently for weeks and I realized early on this was exactly the type of dating I’d needed.  We’d gotten to know each other, flirted like mad sometimes, other times we talked about everything and nothing.  We worked together, ate breakfast and lunch together most days, and spent time at my flat on a fairly regular basis.  I knew how he took his tea and coffee, he knew what my favorite flowers were and that I needed a new job even before I was willing to admit to that.  These were the thoughts that ran through my head as he gathered me in his arms and massaged my lips with his until I opened up to him.  

 

And then the thoughts stopped and all I knew was Draco and how I’d never been kissed like this before.

 

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**3 March, 2003**

 

It’s been so long since I’ve written in my journal!  I’ve spent the last two hours reading through the entries and it amazes me how much my life has changed in the last thirteen months.  

 

After the night I like to think of as _the beginning of my relationship with Draco_ , other things in my life began to fall into place.  I talked to Minerva and she told me Madam Pince was planning on retiring in the next few years and offered to ask the old librarian if I might apprentice with her.  Within a day, Minerva sent word that Madam Pince was _absolutely delighted_ to hear that her beloved Hogwarts Library would possibly be left in my hands.  I began to work with her on the weekends and within a few weeks of my apprenticeship, she began leaving the library to me a few nights of the week.  By the end of the spring term, Irma decided to retire and I had a new position at Hogwarts.  All this time I continued to work at The Office of Magical Cooperation, and though I was busy, I was happy to have the possibility of a meaningful position in my future.

 

Draco and I took a much-needed vacation before the Hogwarts school year began and he shocked me by asking me to move in with him.  He’d purchased a cottage just outside Hogsmeade with the hope that even though we would no longer be working together, we could be together at a shared home.  When we got back to England, we began packing my things and transporting them to our new abode.  

 

We both work long hours, but our cottage has become a haven from the pressures of our jobs.  Draco took a promotion and will lead his own team in the next year.  And my job is like coming home after a long, hard journey and being surrounded by loved ones: my dear, dear books.  The library is fuller than ever with students running study groups in the new study rooms and easily accessing information via an updated system I have put into place.  Minerva has granted Draco access to my office Floo and he brings me dinner when I have to work in the evening.  I notice the sixth and seventh year girls sighing over his romantic gestures and it brings me unending joy that I have this lovely wizard to share my time with.  

 

Over the Christmas hols, Draco and I invited our parents to join us at the cottage for brunch.  Our meal was delicious thanks to the two Hogwarts elves I hired to assist me.  Draco tapped his wine glass as if to make a toast and I smiled at him, a tiny bit tipsy from the champagne, and noticed my mum and Narcissa beginning to get misty-eyed.  I focused my attention on Draco and he took my hand and kneeled beside me.  

 

“Hermione, will you marry me?” he asked.  

 

I could hear my mum sniffling and I looked at his handsome face, his beautiful smile, his angelic hair and for the life of me, I could not imagine a better connection with anyone else in the entire world.  I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in the crook of his neck.

 

“Yes,” I answered, tightly hugging him for a moment before he found my lips and snogged the daylights out of me in front of all and sundry.  He slipped a ring on my finger, its magic zinging me lightly before it merged with my own magic.  The ring was fit for a Malfoy bride and I still find myself shocked to see it glistening on my finger, a tapestry of diamonds and emeralds set in platinum.  

 

We plan to get married this summer, surrounded by friends and family.  Draco is trying to convince me to consider a location wedding in Italy.  Although I don’t think our parents would be all too pleased with this choice, Draco knows _I_ want to get married near the beach where we vacationed last summer.  And what is so wonderful about Draco is that he always pushes me to be true to myself; to do what is right for me.

 

As I read through my past journal entries, I realized that all those awful dates taught me what I did and didn’t want in a man.  And even though my Draco realized there could be something between us long before I did, he gave me a chance to get to know him without the monumental pressure I normally subjected myself to before a first date.  We slid into dating with an ease unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.  Sometimes we bicker or get on each other’s nerves, but I’ve learned those ideals I had imagined are ridiculous compared to the amazing life we’re building together.  

 

So, I think I can lay this particular journal to rest.  I’ve already started a new chapter in my life.      

 

 


	9. Fridays at 5:00, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione heals Draco with a most unusual magic.

“Astoria, you have Scorpius every Friday!  I have appointments today,” Draco said into the fireplace.  Astoria’s disinterested face floated in the green flames.

 

“I have plans with _my husband_ , Draco.  We’re going out of the country and Scorpius is too little to appreciate Etienne’s flat in Paris.  He’d be bored and Etienne has accepted several invitations for our time there.”

 

Draco sighed.  This wasn’t the first time his ex-wife had bailed on little Scorpius.  Their farce of a marriage had finally ended when Scorpius was four months old and she had announced that she had met someone else and wanted a divorce.  In truth, Draco had been relieved, but when Astoria left him with baby Scorpius, he had become the boy’s primary parent.  He loved his son and wanted him to enjoy a childhood free from the guilt and expectations of his own parents. 

 

“You have him one day a week, Astoria.  If you can’t handle one day, perhaps we need to amend the custody agreement.”

 

Draco had expected her to argue, because that would be the decent thing to do, to want to be involved in your own child’s life.  Astoria smiled as if Draco had offered her a gift.

 

“The timing is perfect!  I need more time with Etienne and we had planned on starting our own family soon,” she added shyly.

 

“Fine.  My solicitor will send you the paperwork next week.”

 

Astoria continued to smile, “Thank you, Draco!  Scorpius prefers you and he won’t enjoy being around my new family.  I’ll send the paperwork back as soon as I get it.”  Her beautiful face withdrew from the fireplace.

 

Draco was furious at his ex-wife, not because she had eschewed her responsibility to their son, but because she had always treated the boy as the ultimate albatross around her neck.  Scorpius was a typical three-year old: he was energetic, asked hundreds of questions and needed consistency and a firm hand.  The little blond boy was also sweet and funny.  Draco loved his son more than anyone in the world.  He just couldn’t understand why the woman who should love Scorpius the most didn’t want anything to do with him.

 

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Every Friday at 5:00 p.m. when her entire staff had gone home for the weekend, Hermione treated a client who valued his privacy enough to pay her what amounted to a large portion of her weekly earnings for one hour of healing.  He was a quiet man, with a serious demeanor.  She had known him for many years and had been reluctant to treat him at first, but he had been humbled by life and now treated her as an equal.  She suspected he often wanted to extend their time together, but when she finished his treatment, he would thank her and hand her a sack of Galleons.  

 

On this winter evening, Hermione waited for her client.  For the first time in two years, he was late.  On occasion, he had to cancel, but there was always an owl letting her know he couldn’t make it.  He was thoughtful and paid her even when he canceled.  

 

Hermione’s office in Muggle London was located on the tenth floor in a medical complex.  It was dark outside and she pressed her face to the glass, watching the snow flutter past the window.  At 5:15 she heard the door open and in came Draco Malfoy with a little boy who was clearly his tiny doppelganger.  

 

“Granger, I’m so sorry I’m late.  Scorp’s mother usually has him today, but she canceled at the last minute and—“ 

 

Hermione took in Malfoy’s frazzled appearance and the flustered child.  Malfoy’s treatment wouldn’t be nearly as effective if he was anxious or stressed.  Hermione put a hand on Draco’s arm before kneeling down to Scorpius’ level.

 

“Hello.  You must be Scorpius.  I’m so excited I finally get to meet you.”  She gave him a hug, which he happily reciprocated.  The Malfoys had become a non-entity in wizarding society, so Scorpius had minimal contact with anyone outside his family.  He was an affectionate child and liked Hermione immediately.  Scorp’s chubby little hand found her long hair.

 

“Nice to meet you, Granger,” he said, fingering a springy curl.

 

Hermione laughed.  “You can call me Granger, but my first name is Hermione.”

 

“Her _miny_ ,” the little boy said slowly.

 

Hermione stood and looked at Draco.  “Malfoy, my daughter Rose is here.  They could watch a movie during your treatment.”

 

“Um, okay.  If you’re sure, Granger.”  He actually hadn’t known she _had_ a child.

 

Hermione knew this arrangement was blurring the lines of professionalism, but Malfoy had been a very good client and she wanted to reciprocate his generosity.  She also admitted to herself that she had developed an inappropriate crush on him.  But she would put that in the back of her mind for the moment and focus on the task at hand.

 

“I probably should have canceled, but I had a lot of discomfort this week.”

 

“It’s not a problem.  Follow me, gentlemen.”  

 

At the back of the office, they entered what was clearly a large examination room that had been turned into a informal telly room for Rose.

 

“Rose, I brought a friend to visit you this evening.  Rose, this is Scorpius.”  Hermione brought her daughter over to meet the fair-haired three-year old.

 

“Hi.” she said with a smile.  “Do you want to watch a movie with me?  Have you seen _Finding Nemo_?”

 

“No,” Scorpius said, easily taking Rose’s outstretched hand.  Without a look at his father, he followed Rose to the small couch in front of a television set.

 

“I have a charm on the room that will alert me if they’re in trouble.  But Rose is used to being here and she’ll help Scorpius if they need anything.”

 

“Well, thank you, Granger.  I didn’t have anyone to care for him on such short notice,” Draco murmured as they walked to her treatment room.  

 

“He seems like a wonderful child, Malfoy.  Rose goes to preschool, but she doesn’t have the opportunity to visit with other children much otherwise.  She’ll be in heaven having Scorpius with her.”

 

Hermione left the room to allow Draco to disrobe and arrange himself on the massage table.  The dimly lit room smelled of relaxing herbs.

 

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It was three months after the war ended that Hermione accidentally discovered her unusual healing gift.  She’d been sitting in Harry’s darkened room, lightly rubbing his back as he tried to make himself disappear in a tangle of sheets.  The wizarding world’s savior had been so depressed, his magic had been inconsistent and causing accidents to happen in his vicinity.  He groaned when she began to put pressure on his tight shoulder muscles.  

 

Hermione wasn’t an expert with verbally expressing her feelings, but she knew actions spoke louder than words.  If touching Harry would give him relief, she could do that.  Maybe physical touch was the only way he could connect at this time.

 

Slowly, Harry’s lean body began to unfurl as she kneaded his back until she realized he was nude under his swath of sheets.  Her hands continued to massage until she was at the small of his back.  His smooth skin had a sprinkling of hair and his rump was round.

 

She wanted to ask if it was alright for her to touch his arse, but for the first time in months, Harry seemed at peace.  So, Hermione followed her instincts and continued the massage along his gluteus maximus.  His skin was slowly warming to her touch, turning pink under her firm fingers.  When he flipped onto his back, she was met with his pleading face.

 

“Will you touch me?” he asked in a small voice.

 

And though she had almost no experience touching the opposite sex, she immediately understood what he meant.  Her answer was a light touch to his burgeoning erection.  

 

She’d never touched a man before, not like this.  His penis was wide and the skin was velvety under her embrace.  The broad head leaked clear fluid, which she used to wet her hand.  He shuddered as her other hand lightly tugged at his bollocks.  Looking at his face in the dim light, Hermione could see Harry was deep in concentration with his eyes closed and his breathing deep.  Without meaning to, her inhales and exhales had matched up to Harry’s.  A comforting, soothing blanket of magic covered her, making her feel more in control and powerful than she had ever felt.  

 

When Harry’s breath started to stutter and he began to push himself against her hand, Hermione gripped him and began to move her digits quickly up and down his shaft.  His weighty balls tightened against his body.  Hermione began to feel a tingling in her fingers as Harry got closer to orgasm.  

 

“Merlin and Morgana,” he groaned before he began to spurt into her hands, further lubricating her motions.

 

Finally, as Harry’s body stilled, Hermione stopped moving her fingers over him.  His shadowed face seemed tranquil, at last.  He grabbed his wand and murmured a cleaning spell over the two of them.

 

Taking a deep breath, he looked into her questioning eyes with awe.

 

“You’re a sex healer.”

 

She truly hadn’t known, but his statement felt accurate.  He took her hand and stroked her fingers with reverence.

 

 

Over the following months, Hermione took care of Harry, using her healing touch to coax him out of the black depression he’d fallen into after the death of so many he loved.  Hermione hadn’t asked Harry to touch her in return and he never offered.  What was between them was more about healing than passion, although Harry would admit he’d never orgasmed as strongly as he did under Hermione’s hand.  What Hermione had offered to him was pleasure, physical healing, and a way to turn off his brain from the constant barrage of guilt he felt.

 

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Hermione had trained to be a Healer and had discovered several proprietary potions that worked in conjunction with Muggle physical therapy to help curse survivors.  She understood the nuances of the magical body which had gained her a loyal following of clients she had treated at St. Mungo’s until she had opened her office a few months after Rose’s birth with a bit of financial help from Rose’s father.  Some clients were reluctant to come into Muggle London, but most would brave a different territory to ease their war wounds.   

 

Draco found her brand of healing had helped not just his body, but his mind as well.  He enjoyed his weekly hour with her more than he could admit.  He never pried into Granger’s personal life, although he had wanted to know more about her.  Bringing Scorpius today had allowed him a view into the life of Hermione Granger.  

 

Before Hermione had started working with him, he had headaches that would cause his to see double or even worse, black out.  He still had pain, but it wasn’t as debilitating as it had once been.  She entered the room and covered his body with a thin blanket.

 

“You’ve had a lot of pain this week?” she prompted.

 

His face was cradled in the massage table opening.  Draco admired her bare feet with vampy red polish on her toes.

 

“I played with Scorpius outside on Wednesday, when it snowed all day.  I suppose the cold must have been hard on my body, because I was barely able to get out of bed on Thursday morning.  I soaked in the tub and took the pain potion you gave me, which helped, but my lower back made moving around very difficult.”

 

“Your spinal column has the most damage here,” she said, lightly touching his neck.  “But your whole body will show signs of damage at one time or another.  Let me know if any part of the treatment hurts, okay?”

 

He nodded and felt her hands glide over his body, starting at his head and ending at his feet.  Her touch was firm, but gentle.  She used a warming charm on him to ensure his muscles could relax.  Generally, they didn’t talk while she worked, but he hadn’t spoken to anyone besides Scorpius all week and he was curious about her daughter.

 

Lowering the blanket to expose his lower back, she applied a thick, potent salve to his skin.  Once she had spread it, she began to knead his tender muscles.

 

“How old is Rose?” Draco asked.  Hermione stopped for a second before resuming the massage.  The relationship between the two was cordial, but personal information was almost never discussed.  She knew he and Astoria had divorced soon after Scorpius was born, but that was from the Daily Prophet.

 

“She’s three and a half,” she answered quietly.  “Do you want to proceed with the other part of your treatment?”

 

“I don’t think I’ll function well next week without it,” he confessed.  Truth be told, his thoughts often drifted to her soft hands on his body, but he could hardly admit that to her.

 

Hermione helped guide Draco onto his back, putting a pillow behind his head.  

 

“Are you comfortable?”

 

He nodded and closed his eyes, waiting for the moment her hands found his sex.  After a year of treatment, Draco had plateaued and found himself needing stronger pain potions.  Hermione had been the one to notice how he wasn’t responding as well to the initial treatment she’d used with him.  By this time, she found herself drawn to the quiet, serious man and knew she could trust him, so she told him about her innate healing ability and asked if it might be something he would want to try.  Draco had been shocked by her confession, but he, too, trusted Hermione and agreed to a new course of treatment.  His pain was eased, but now he faced a new problem:  an infatuation with his Healer.

 

Slow, steady hands began to slide up and down his cock as he did his best to enjoy the feeling of contentment washing over him.  He relaxed even further as her other hand began to massage his balls.  The feel of her thumb swiping pre-cum over the sensitive underside of his head had him lightly thrusting.

 

“You’ll get more out of this if you can prolong ejaculation,” Hermione murmured. 

 

“Can you apply less pressure?” Draco asked, licking his dry lips.

 

Hermione’s hands stilled.  “I have an idea, but please tell me if you feel any discomfort.”

 

She drew her wand and quickly Transfigured the massage table into a comfy chair.  Kneeling between his legs, she shrugged off her shirt and bra, exposing her heavy breasts.  

 

“Breathe deeply, Malfoy,” Hermione reminded him, adding a bit of massage oil to the valley between her mounds and nestling his cock between them.  She gently bounced up and down, pushing her globes together with her hands.  The warm, tingling feeling moved from his cock to his spine, the sex magic doing its best to heal his damaged nerves.  

 

It was impossible for Draco to keep his eyes closed as Hermione bounced around his length, using her soft breasts to help him achieve orgasm.  Her eyes were closed and her full lips were slightly parted as she let out little huffs of air.  

 

“I’m close,” he growled in warning.

 

He began to thrust against her tits and she matched his speed.

 

“Let go, Draco.”  

 

Her breathy words whispered across his heated cock and he came, white ropes of semen landing on her chest.  She continued to move, slowing her movements as his thrusts slowed.

 

“Gods, Granger, I haven’t felt this good in fifteen years,” he groaned as he felt a wordless spell clean his skin.

 

Hermione stood and righted her clothing.  With a smile, she headed to the door.  

 

“Relax for a minute before you get up, okay?”

 

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After he redressed, Draco found Hermione and the children.

 

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” he asked her.

 

“That’s not necessary, Malfoy.”  

 

“The kids seem to get along.  It would be nice for Scorp to have another child to play with this evening.”  

 

Draco knew she was uncomfortable with exposing this area of her life to him, so he treated the situation as if she was doing him a favor.  Which she was, if he was being honest with himself.  He’d be hard-pressed to find another wizarding family who would let their child play with an ex-Death Eater’s son.

 

She leaned towards him with a shuttered look.  “Do you still live at the manor?”

 

_Oh._   “No, we live outside of London.  In a fairly normal sized home, by comparison.”

 

“Well, okay.  Rose would enjoy the change in scenery.”  

 

She gave Draco a shy smile. She didn’t have contact with many people after she had Rose. Her life had become work and Rose and she was isolated.  If she didn’t think about her situation, she could soldier on, but she was lonely.   

  

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After a quick pasta dinner Draco prepared, Scorpius and Rose went to play in his room.

 

“What happened today, Malfoy?”

 

Letting out a sigh, Draco thought about how much to share with Hermione.  She was the first woman he had met in years who he trusted.

 

“Astoria watches Scorp on Fridays, but she canceled today.  In fact, she wants me to have full custody of Scorpius so she can start a new family with her new husband.”

 

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione whispered.  

 

He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Our marriage wasn’t good and I understood why she found someone else, but I don’t know how she could give up Scorp so easily.  I just don’t understand.  Even my parents, as emotionally distant as they were, didn’t treat me with the indifference Astoria has shown Scorpius.  How do you do it, Granger?  Potter was your best friend.”

 

She shook her head.  “We were never a couple and one night things just sort of got away from us.  We don’t want to be together and he loves the life he has.  I don’t begrudge him his feelings.  He’s helped me financially.”  

 

“He gives money to Rosie?”

 

“No, but he gave me the seed money to start my practice.  I was working at St. Mungo’s until Rosie was a few months old, but the schedule was horrible for a single parent.  My schedule is much better for us now and I have more time with Rosie.”

 

They stopped to listen to the kids’ high-pitched, excited voices.  Draco heard Scorpius laugh, which made him smile.

 

“This is good, Malfoy,” Hermione said, taking another bite of her pasta.  “I’d eat pasta more often, but I don’t think my body would appreciate it.”

 

“You look great.  Better than you did at eighteen.”

 

Hermione smiled at him.  “Thank you.  I suppose a body is never the same after pregnancy.”

 

“At eighteen the two of us were fighting for our lives.  Now you look healthy.  It suits you,” Draco said, giving her a small smile and looking down at his food.  

 

She was curved in all the right places, as far as he was concerned.  He thought she’d always had an arresting face.  Not beautiful, like Astoria, but interesting and comforting.  Over the past two years of meeting with her weekly, he thought she was much more attractive than he had in the past.  She had also learned to style her long, curly locks.  He was glad, since he’d always wanted to run his hands through her riotous hair.

 

“Who knew Draco Malfoy could be so sweet?” she said, giving him a wink.

 

He chuckled.  “Come on, Granger.  I’ll give you a tour of the house.”  

 

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Like Draco Malfoy, his home was traditional and serious, but also thoughtful and lived-in.  The two story, five bedroom brick house was situated in a neighborhood of remote wizarding homes.  One could see other houses from his home, but they were tiny at that distance.  

 

The first floor contained a sitting room, the kitchen, a small loo, Draco’s office and a den.  Upstairs were the bedrooms and additional bathrooms.

 

Hermione admired the stuffed bookshelves in Draco’s office.  “Do you work, Malfoy?”

 

“Have you seen the new DADA book Hogwarts is using?”

 

“Actually, I’ve read it.”

 

“I wrote it,” he admitted.

 

“It was excellent, Malfoy.  You write under a pseudonym?”

 

“I don’t think it would have been published with my name on it.  Professor McGonagall knows I wrote the book and encouraged the Hogwarts Board of Governors to approve it for use in the class.  I’m working on a new text for Transfiguration, with Minerva’s guidance.”

 

To say she was surprised would be an understatement.  She knew Malfoy did something, but she had expected it would have to do with investing his Galleons.  Now that she really looked at the books on his shelves, she saw several books on Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguation, Potions, Arithmancy and Charms.  

 

“I didn’t know you were a writer,” she said.

 

“We don’t know very much about each other.  I didn’t know you had a child until today.”

 

“True.  I knew life would be complicated since I was eleven years old, but I didn’t know it would be this day-in-day-out, just-trying-to-make-a-decent-life-for-myself-and-now-Rose type of life.”  She looked up at Draco who was watching her with a sympathetic expression.  Her cheeks burned with mortification. 

 

_Why did I just tell him that?  He’s my client, for Merlin’s sake.  He just wanted to be nice this evening, perhaps he wanted some adult interaction.  Don’t come off as pathetic now that he knows something about you._

 

He cleared his throat.  “Should we check on the kids?  They’re awfully quiet.”

 

Hermione nodded and followed him up the stairs to Scorpius’ room.  Scorp’s room was littered with toys.  The two small children were lying on the bed, fast asleep.

 

“Shall we leave them?  You can stay in the guest room, if you’d like.”  

 

He hoped she would, but he knew the revelations of the evening were wearing on her.  He’d wanted to respond to her in the office, but he didn’t know what to say.  While he wasn’t welcomed into wizarding society, he had enough money to support himself and Scorpius quite well.  After the war, and particularly after his divorce, he wasn’t eager to try to ingratiate himself into society.  He was grateful for the peace and normalcy of his life. 

 

“Thank you for the offer, but we should be getting home.”  She went into the room and gently retrieved Rose, careful not to wake Scorpius.  Draco followed them downstairs and to the front door.

 

“Bring him next week, Malfoy.  He’s welcome any time.”

 

“Thanks, Granger,” he said, opening the front door for her.  She would Apparate from the snowy front yard.

 

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispered, giving him a smile.  “See you next week.”

 

He watched her Disapparate with a quiet pop.  After the stress of dealing with Astoria, Granger had managed to help him salvage the day.  Clearly she had plenty of her own baggage, but her hardship hadn’t turned him off as it might with someone else.  He closed the door, thinking about the woman he had known for almost twenty years and her unknown daughter.

 


	10. Fridays at 5:00, Part 2

   

 

“Daddy, is Her _miny_ your friend?” Scorpius asked his father the next day.  Draco didn’t think Scorpius would understand the nuances of his relationship with Hermione Granger, so he simplified it for his son.

 

“We’ve become friends over a long time.  Did you like Rose?”

 

“She’s the best!  We played dragons and dinosaurs.  Have you ever seen a movie, Daddy?”

 

“I haven’t.  Did you like it?”  

 

“Yes!  Can we get a telly, too?”  

 

Draco looked at Scorp’s big, blue eyes, so like Narcissa Malfoy’s.  He’d survived the war, only to lose both his parents in a matter of a few years.  He’d tried to adhere to Narcissa’s wishes by marrying the woman his family had arranged for him to marry, but Astoria couldn’t handle the taint of becoming a Malfoy.  As soon as her end of the marriage contract was fulfilled, she happily left him for Etienne, an older gentleman who took pride in Astoria’s pureblood breeding and lovely visage.  

 

“Maybe, son.  I’ll ask Hermione about it next time we see her.”

 

“Her _miny_ ’s nice, Daddy.  I like her crazy hair.”

 

Draco barked out a laugh.  “Oh, Scorp!  I always liked her hair.  I used to stare at it during class.”

 

“I can tell she’s your friend because you smiled a lot last night.  More than me.”

 

“It was nice to have some friends visit, wasn’t it, buddy?”

 

“I hope they come over again.”  Scorpius’ little face showed his happiness at meeting a new friend, someone his age who didn’t care about the sins of his family, whose mother wouldn’t pull her away when she realized her child was playing with a Malfoy.

 

“Me, too, Scorp.” 

 

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The next week dragged for Hermione.  Every day when Hermione would pick up Rose from daycare the little brunette would ask if Scorpius was coming to the clinic that night.  By Wednesday evening, Hermione contemplated showing up on Malfoy’s doorstep with a box of pizza and her daughter in tow.  

 

_Maybe he has a girlfriend.  He was trying to repay you for being nice to his child.  Don’t make this into something it’s not._

 

Hermione hadn’t had a lot of experience with men, but she could tell when a man’s interest veered from friendship to something else.  Malfoy had been looking at her with more than a friendly expression over the past few months.  Yes, he was her patient, but they had known each other for many years.

 

_Why is my life always so complicated?  Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with one of the Weasleys?  Or Neville?  I don’t need to pursue some kind of relationship with Malfoy.  If I lose Malfoy as a client, our lives will get even more convoluted._

 

Hermione made up her mind to behave as professionally as possible with Draco Malfoy.  She’d offer him the best care she could.  Scorpius and Rose could play together every Friday while Hermione treated Draco, then she’s bid them adieu when his appointment was over.  She _could_ do this.  She _had to_ do this.  

 

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Draco felt surprisingly nervous when they reached Hermione’s office on Friday evening.  Scorpius was happily chatting with his father about all the things he and Rose were going to do while Her _miny_ treated his dad.  The tiny blond boy wanted his father to invite them to dinner again, but Draco told his son they might have plans and not to get attached to the idea of them coming over.

 

Opening the door to the clinic, he saw Rose bound up to Scorpius like a squirmy puppy.  

 

“Scorp!  I’ve been waiting days and days to see you!”  

 

“I know!  Daddy said we couldn’t come until today for his ‘pointment.”

 

Hermione kneeled down and grinned at Malfoy’s son.  “Hi Scorpius.  We’re so happy to see you today.  Can I set you two up with a movie?  I found a movie about dinosaurs for you.”

 

“Really?  I love dinosaurs.”

 

“I know you do.  Rose says your dinosaur roar is very scary.”

 

“It is.  Let’s go watch the movie,” Scorpius said, taking Hermione’s hand as they walked back to her living area.

 

“Malfoy, why don’t you get ready while I turn on the movie for the kids.”

 

He nodded and headed to the treatment room.  

 

_Is it my imagination or did she seem cooler with me?  Damn it, I knew I acted stupid last week.  Should I say something?_

 

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Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before entering the treatment room.  Draco was lying facedown on the massage table.  He’d become a tall man, even taller than his father.  He was still slim, but his shoulders had filled out.  He wore his hair cropped short in a surprisingly military style.  The first time Hermione had treated him, she’d almost gasped at the amount of scarring on his body.  His residual pain from the war was certainly not imagined, if his body told her anything.

 

In a low, calm voice she asked, “How was your pain this week?”

 

She covered him with a blanket and began to run her hands over his body, beginning with his head.  She knew he liked when she spent time massaging his scalp.

 

“It was better than last week.”

 

When Draco’s pain was more manageable, they would forego using her special healing gift.  Hermione had found the power exerted from using the gift would require her to get extra rest in the days after, so, as she had explained to Draco, it was better if they reserved the treatment for times when regular treatment wasn’t working.

 

“That’s good.  No headaches?”

 

“I read for several hours on Monday and woke up with a headache on Tuesday morning.  One of your pain potions helped.”

 

“I’ll show you some exercises to help with eye strain.  We can also check your vision.  You might need specs.”

 

“Okay.”

 

After that, Hermione worked on Draco in silence.  Usually he could relax during his treatments, but today he was surprisingly anxious.  Half-way through he mumbled something.

 

“I’m sorry, Draco, but I didn’t hear you.”

 

_She called me Draco.  She almost never calls me Draco._

 

He cleared his throat.  “My life isn’t how I expected it to turn out, either.  It’s…um, kind of lonely, actually.”

 

He didn’t think she’d respond as she kept working on his neck, easing the pain that lived in that area of his body.

 

“I understand,” she murmured.  

 

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After leaving Draco to dress, Hermione went to find the kids.  They were happily sitting on the couch finishing the movie.  She sat between them, pulling each little body into hers.  

 

“I like you, Her _miny_ ,” Scorpius whispered. 

 

“I like you, Scorpius,” she whispered back.

 

“Daddy likes you, too,” he confided.

 

Hermione’s eyebrows rose.  She didn’t think Malfoy would like his son to spread that information around.  She gave him a squeeze.  It was somewhat of a surprise to her that Malfoy would have such a cuddly child, but she could tell he was a good father.  Scorpius clearly had his physical and emotional needs met.  

 

Draco watched Hermione and the kids from the doorway.  Seeing her treating his son with such regard made his heart warm.  Hermione turned and saw him leaning against the doorframe.  The kids turned a moment after she did.

 

“Daddy, can Rosie and ‘Miny come over?  Pleassse,” Scorpius begged his father.

 

“Please, Mummy!  Please, please!” Rosie bounced up and down on the sofa in her excitement.

 

Draco gave Hermione a grin and beckoned her to the hall.

 

“You two are welcome to come over.  Scorp’s been talking about Rose all week.  And you’re not so bad yourself, Granger.”

 

“Be still my heart,” she said, patting her chest.

 

“You two can stay in the guest room.  The kids can play some more in the morning.”

 

“I don’t know, Malfoy,” Hermione said, twisting a curl around her finger.  “We don’t want to abuse your generosity.”

 

“You’ve been more than generous to us, Granger.”  Malfoy looked so sincere.  

 

“Can I pick up dinner at the very least?”

 

“Only if you get pizza.”

 

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Draco was amazed by how nice it was to have Hermione help the kids bathe and brush their teeth before bed.  Scorpius fought the nighttime routine and Draco was usually exhausted by the time he finally wrestled the feisty little boy into his pajamas, read him a story and got him to sleep.  She was a natural with children and had the kids ready for bed by eight.  Draco read the kids a story and was amazed that they were both asleep by the time he was done with the fairy tale.

 

“You’re great with kids, Granger,” Draco said with a smile.  She was always so straightforward and professional with him, but in his home she was almost shy.

 

“I put a few drops of Dreamless Sleep potion in their drinks at dinner,” she said with a straight face.

 

Draco looked at her with shock, but let out a breath when he realized she was kidding by the smile fighting itself onto her lips.  

 

“There have been times I’ve considered it,” Draco admitted with a wry smile.  “Would you care for some wine?”

 

“That would be lovely.” 

 

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After Astoria had left, Draco had focused on raising his son.  He didn’t date.  Pansy had contacted him after the divorce and he had thought she might want to see him romantically, but she only had interest in Draco as a friend.  She’d become an assistant in the Ministry’s law library and had met Darius, a solicitor and a Gryffindor ten years her senior.  Darius was huge- tall and broad, but he was also funny and smart.  He took care of Pansy and she said she felt cherished by him.  Darius reminded Draco of a smarter Greg Goyle.  

 

So, aside from the split-second possibility of something with Pansy, Draco hadn’t so much as looked at anyone until he started to develop something for the witch currently in his home.  He’d been alone for several months when he sought Healer Granger’s help with his frequent headaches and body aches.  Although she hadn’t wanted to treat him at first, he’d convinced her with a combination of Galleons and apologies.  Her touch had been a revelation in those days after feeling like the world had abandoned him.  After seeing her a few times, he began to realize that going for his treatments was the high point of his week.

 

Hermione wanted to keep things friendly and light with Draco, but the past two weeks had her confused with conflicting emotions.  She was not a damsel in distress and while she didn’t need a man in her life, part of her yearned to be in a loving relationship and for Rose to know what it was like to be a member of a traditional family.  Sure, Rosie had Grandma and Grandpa Granger, the Weasleys, and other close family friends, but that wasn’t the same as having what Hermione had enjoyed as a child.    

 

But she didn’t regret her decision to keep her baby, not for one minute.  She thought at some point in the future Harry would deeply regret ignoring Rose.  She didn’t need to be in a relationship with Harry for him to have a relationship with his daughter.  Hermione thought she’d made that clear to him, but he’d only seen Rose once when she was a baby and hadn’t seen her since.

 

Hermione’s musings were making her feel weighted with responsibility and she adjusted her thoughts so she could enjoy a few hours with the man who had opened his home and his family to her and Rosie. 

 

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Draco looked up from his reading when Hermione came into his den.  Her long hair was twisted into a loose knot and she wore yoga pants and a long sleeve cotton t-shirt.  Her Muggle clothes were so much more revealing than the robes most witches wore.    

 

“Wine?” he asked.

 

“Please,” she replied, taking the offered goblet from his hand.  “What do you usually do on the weekend?”

 

“My weekends don’t vary much from the rest of the week, I’m afraid.  What about you?”

 

“Mostly I get ready for the next week.  Laundry, food prep, cleaning.  Sometimes Rose will stay with my parents and I’ll enjoy some time at the bookstore or research something for my practice.”

 

Draco suspected Hermione didn’t have a man in her life, but he wasn’t sure.  

 

“Do you do any dating?” he asked as casually as he could.

 

This was the conversation Hermione had been anticipating, and she wasn’t really sure how to deal with it.  One part of her wanted to tell him she didn’t really date and leave it at that, but the other part of her, the Gryffindor side, urged her to discuss what was clearly a mutual attraction.

 

“This is as close to a date as I’ve had since I became pregnant with Rose,” she admitted, attempting to let Draco know she acknowledged his interest.  

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“Not many people know I have a child, and I prefer to keep it that way.  I think her parentage would cause people to scrutinize her unnecessarily.  And, frankly, I’m nervous about Rose getting attached to someone only to have them exit our lives.  I don’t think that’s fair to her.”          

 

“I haven’t dated since Astoria and I divorced.  Taking care of Scorpius after she left has taken up all my time and energy.”

 

Hermione looked at Draco.  In his own way, he’d become her friend.  As much as she wanted things to stay professional between them, because she hated the idea of losing him as a client, she was intensely curious about exploring the connection between them.

 

“The kids do take up every spare minute, if you’re doing it right,” Hermione conceded.  “Have you considered sending him to preschool?”

 

“Muggle preschool?  I don’t think that would be right for us.” 

 

Hermione shrugged.  This _was_ Draco Malfoy, after all.  She didn’t think he’d faked _all_ his opinions over the years.

 

“I suppose your situation is different than mine.  The director of the school where I send Rosie is a Squib, so she keeps an eye on any accidental magic situations for me.  It would be easier to send her to a magical preschool, but since there aren’t any, it’s a moot point.”       

 

“Scorpius would probably like going to school, but…I don’t know.  The Muggle world is still too foreign to me.  I’m not comfortable with the idea of him being in a different environment without being able to monitor what’s going on.”

 

“It’s okay, Draco.  I was just asking.”

 

Draco poured her another inch of wine and settled into his chair.  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

Hermione took a sip and considered what to say without coming off as judgmental.  

 

“We don’t know each other very well.  You know your son and what he needs better than anyone else.  I was just making conversation.”

 

They drank the rest of their wine in silence.  As a twenty year old woman, Hermione would have been absolutely indignant by what Draco had just said, but ten years later, having a demanding career and being a single parent had taught her to consider things from a more rounded perspective.  

 

“How do you do it all with such a good attitude?” Draco finally asked.

 

She chuckled.  “Do I?  I feel like I’m all business, all the time.  There are days I’ve seriously considered what I’ve done wrong in my life to have everything so upside down.”

 

“Are your parents still around?” 

 

“They are, but they were pushing forty when I was born, so now they’re getting elderly.  Last year they moved into a very nice flat.  I believe they’re in Beijing right now.”

 

“Are you close to them?”

 

The question was a complex one for her.  They were busy, career driven people and she was intensely independent.  The Grangers worried about their daughter, but they preferred to let her sort out her problems alone.

 

“That’s a loaded question for me.  I love and respect them, but they think I’m too idealistic.  It’s caused some friction between us.”

 

“But they help a bit with Rose?”

 

“They do.  I’m grateful they’re such thoughtful grandparents.”

 

Hermione knew both of Malfoy’s parents were dead.  Even with her financial hardship and the unexpected twists and turns life had handed her, Hermione had help from the Weasleys and her parents on a semi-regular basis.  

 

“My mother would have loved Scorpius,” he said quietly.  “But ‘society’ doesn’t tend to raise their own children, not like you or I do.  It’s practically unheard of for a man to raise a child by himself in the circles I grew up in.”

 

She smiled sympathetically at him.  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a wonderful job.  He’s a lovely child.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, ducking his head.  Draco _was_ doing his best, but it often felt like any acknowledgement of his positive qualities as a human being would forever be overshadowed by his actions as a teenager. 

 

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The next morning Draco took the kids out to play, with Rosie showing Draco and Scorpius how to make snow angels.  Hermione watched them through the kitchen window as she made breakfast for the group.  She wondered what could have driven Astoria to leave this life she had with Draco.  It seemed almost ideal to her, but the way the Malfoy name was regarded nowadays might have been too much for the superficial debutante.  Hermione was no stranger to slander, so Malfoy’s fall from grace didn’t bother her like it might another woman.  She knew there was always more to the situation than met the eye.

 

After prying her daughter away from Draco and Scorpius’ house, the two had a quiet weekend.  Hermione found herself missing the two Malfoys and knew her daughter did, as well.  

 

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Several days later, Hermione received an owl from Draco that had her canceling her appointments for the day and packing a bag for her and Rosie.  

 

When they got to the Malfoy’s home, Scorpius threw himself at Hermione.  He began to cry and she picked him up, holding his shaky little body against hers.  Rosie stared at her friend, worry making her green eyes big and watery.

 

“Can you tell me where your daddy is, Scorp?” Hermione asked him, brushing his fine hair off his wet face.

 

“In his room,” Scorpius said, pointing up the stairs.

 

“After I check on your daddy, I’ll make you and Rosie lunch, okay?”

 

He clung to her for another minute before Hermione directed Rosie to play dragons and dinosaurs with Scorp.  Rosie took his hand and led him to his cache of toys in a basket in the large kitchen.  

 

Hermione knocked on Draco’s door before letting herself in.  

 

“Draco?  It’s Hermione,” she said softly, making her way to his bed.

 

“Granger, what are you doing here?” he said, groaning as the sound of his own voice made his head pound.

 

“I was worried about you when I got your note.  Even when you’ve felt your worst, you’ve always come to your appointments.  And I wanted to give you a break from taking care of Scorpius,” she said in a low voice.  

 

Hermione made sure Draco was clothed before she pulled his blankets off in order to examine him.  His muscles were tense from the pain of his intense migraine.  When she had him gingerly move onto his stomach, she found his second problem: a slipped disk in his back.  

 

“I’m going to give you my strongest pain potion, which will most likely cause you to fall asleep for a few hours.  Has the pain been keeping you up?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispered.

 

Once she had gotten Draco onto his side and pulled his blankets back up, she sat beside him, running a hand through his short hair.  

 

“I need to take the children to Mrs. Weasley.  She’ll take care of them and I can treat you, okay?”

 

Too tired and uncomfortable to object, Draco merely nodded his head.  He was miserable, but the fact that he had someone looking out for him and Scorpius made the pain bearable.  

 

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After feeding the kids lunch, Hermione took them to Molly, who was more than happy to add two more kids to her brood of grandchildren.  The Weasley matriarch was charmed by Scorpius shaking her hand and introducing himself.  Hermione felt pride on Draco’s behalf.  His son was an excellent reflection of his parenting.

 

“Why don’t I keep them for the evening?  Bill’s children are staying overnight,” Molly suggested after Hermione explained the situation with Draco.  

 

“That would be wonderful, but will you Floo call Draco’s house if Scorpius gets spooked?  He’s hardly ever away from his father.”

 

“Of course, dear.  But don’t you worry, I have the grandmother’s special touch.  In fact, we were just about to make a batch of cookies before you three came over.”

 

Hermione kissed Molly’s cheek.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Oh, pish.  We’re family and I love Rosie like my own.  Just take care of Mr. Malfoy and we’ll see you tomorrow morning, alright?”  

 

She used the Floo to get back to Draco’s house and found he was still asleep, which was good.  Using her wand, she put away toys, washed dishes, and made herself a pot of tea.  After settling on the sofa with a few journals, she was able to read while sipping her chai.  

 

The large house was such a far cry from the monstrous, cold manor where Draco had grown up.  She’d never been one for excessive decoration, so the simplicity and solidness of the home spoke to her.  It lacked a certain woman’s touch, but it was practical and warm in its own way.

 

Around eight in the evening, Hermione heard Draco’s footsteps in his upstairs bedroom and the toilet flush a moment later.  She gave Draco a minute before making her way to the bedroom.

 

“Draco, can I come in?”

 

“Yeah,” he groaned as he sat on the bed, his agonizing back making it hard to move around.

 

Hermione ran to him and eased him onto the bed, helping him to roll onto his side.

 

“I need to use my wand to heal your back.  It’s going to hurt, but at least you’ll be able to move around.”

 

“Okay,” he murmured as Hermione helped him move onto his stomach.

 

With a few diagnostic spells, Hermione ascertained which disc needed healing and began to delicate process of easing pressure on the nerve.  Draco’s shallow breathing had Hermione ever-so-careful to not cause him further pain.  With a last flourish of her wand, the procedure was done.

 

“Let’s move you onto your back,” she whispered, knowing his head was still aching.  

 

“I haven’t felt this awful in a long time.”

 

“I know.  You could have owled me earlier,” she chided him, gently rubbing his temple with her thumb.

 

“I thought I could work through the pain.  My head is still throbbing.”

 

She wasn’t sure if he was aware of his hands resting on her thighs as his body curled into her warmth.  Knowing there was no way she’d disrupt the sleep he so desperately needed, Hermione made herself comfortable in Draco’s bed, shocked by how easy it was for her to feel at home next to this wizard.

 

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The early morning darkness was giving way to the dawn when Hermione felt Draco shift and make his way to the ensuite.  She sat up and took a sip of water and used her wand to freshen her face.

 

Hermione had one more suggestion, but it was a last resort.  She’d never used the full extent of her gift with Draco.  For full healing to take place, her body had to be as engaged as the recipient of her gift.  She’d discovered by accident what sex did for her partner, so as a rule, she avoided intercourse, though she enjoyed it immensely.  Her feelings for her patient had gone from interest to full blown fixation and she just knew that sex, even if for healing purposes, would make those feelings evolve further.  Nevertheless, the longer Hermione treated Draco, the more she realized his pain hindered his life.

 

“I do have one more treatment option,” Hermione explained as Draco sat next to her on the bed.  “It’s a bit more involved.  I want your assurance that if this option breaches your boundaries, you will tell me.”

 

“Go on,” he said, his grey eyes watching her cautiously.

 

“We haven’t yet used the full extent of my healing abilities,” she began.  “If we were to engage in intercourse, my magic could begin to repair your body at the cellular level.  In essence, your body would begin to regenerate areas where you have damage.”

 

Draco _wanted_ to sleep with Hermione.  He’d wanted to sleep with her even before she began to treat him with her innate sex magic, but after she began to touch him so intimately, the desire became almost unbearable at times.  He longed to touch her, but as a pureblood wizard, he knew witches with sexual healing abilities were judicious about who they chose to heal.  Throughout wizarding history, _sorcière du sexe_ were a well-protected secret in most families.  In pureblood marriage arrangements, a _sorcière du sexe_ would guarantee health and strong progeny for a family’s beloved son.  It was ironic that Draco had been taught to hate Hermione Granger, but had his parents known of her gift, they’d have paid a king’s ransom to have her for their son.  Draco suspected Hermione didn’t quite know her value in terms of archaic marriage arrangements, but she knew enough about wizarding culture to keep her gift a secret.  

 

In answer, Draco took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm.  She looked at him in the dim light, his face lined with fatigue and remnants of the debilitating pain he’d experienced in the last twenty-four hours.  The touch of his lips on her sensitive palm caused her body to ignite, her pent up sexual magic making her body thrum in anticipation.  Noticing her breath hitch, Draco took the opportunity to turn her face and kiss her, relishing her full lips and the sensual feel of her tongue lapping against his.  

 

As they kissed, Draco began to touch her, exploring the places previously prohibited to him.  As he unbuttoned her shirt, all the things he wanted to whisper to her got stuck in his throat.

 

_You are so beautiful._

 

_Your hair is so soft._

 

_You taste like honey and cinnamon._

 

_Your skin feels like silk._

 

When her bra was unhooked and her breasts freed, Draco took a pink nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the nub.

 

“Oh, Gods,” she moaned.  

 

It had been so long since she’d been touched this way.  She kneaded his shoulders as his hand slipped between her legs.  Ever so lightly, he rubbed his finger over her damp knickers.

 

“Are you ready?” she murmured.

 

“Yeah,” he said, quickly removing the rest of his clothing as Hermione did the same.

 

Hermione rose to her knees admiring Draco’s lean body.  His erection jutted from his body, a bead of pre-come wetting the tip.  Without a second thought, Hermione leaned down and licked the liquid from him.

 

“Ahh!” he gasped.  He, too, had been without a bed partner for quite some time and oral sex was something Astoria had preferred to avoid.  Taking him into her mouth for a langorous pull, Draco felt as if his entire focus was on the witch before him.  Too soon she stopped and straddled him.

 

“Now?”

 

Draco nodded, then closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation of entering her tight, wet sheath.  When her pelvis rested on his, he opened his eyes to the most arousing sight he’d ever beheld.  Her breathing was shallow as she struggled to stay still for another moment.

 

“We need to move slowly.  Let my magic take hold of your body and focus on your healing.”

 

Her hips began to move and Draco let her lead, enjoying the view of her bouncing breasts and the grip of her hot quim around him.  Her hands rested on his chest while his hands went to her full arse, exploring the crease between her cheeks, which she seemed to like.  The gentle tingle of her sex magic worked its way up his spine and warmed his body several degrees.  Draco looked at Hermione and saw she was beginning to perspire and her gentle rhythm was becoming more erratic.

 

“Are you close?”

 

He nodded and pulled Hermione down to kiss her, needing to taste her as her hips began to buck against him.  When he could no longer hold back, he began to thrust into her body, his balls slapping against her.

 

All at once, the heat and pleasure he’d been feeling rushed into a feeling of total euphoria as he came.  She broke the kiss with a deep, loud moan.  Her body pulsed around him, drawing out his intense orgasm.  Finally, their hips stopped moving and Hermione collapsed against him.  Surprising her, Draco hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, making no move to let her go.

 

Hermione snuggled against his body, enjoying the closeness. 

 

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After Hermione gave Scorpius, who couldn’t stop talking about the Weasleys, a goodbye hug, Draco pressed two bags of Galleons into her hand.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Your weekly wages,” he said.  “Is it not enough?”

 

“It’s fine,” Hermione choked out.  “Come on, Rosie, we’ve got to go.”

 

The perceptive little girl, hearing the strain in her mum’s voice, ran to Hermione and took her hand.

 

“I’m ready, Mummy.”

 

Hermione wasn’t able to look at Draco as they left the house.  She Apparated as soon as they cleared the wards.   What had happened between her and Draco the past weekend…obviously it had been a mistake on her part.  Yes, she had helped him, but she thought he understood that what she was doing was based on something other than business.  How wrong she’d been!  True, she had healed him, but didn’t he understand how careful she had to be about who she bedded?  Hermione thought he understood it wasn’t his money she wanted, but when she left his house, she felt like every bit the whore.  Gods, as soon as she realized she had feelings for him, she should have made excuses to send him to another Healer.  And now she was in a situation where she was hurt, but even worse, Rosie would not understand why she could no longer see Scorpius and Draco.    

 

 

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Despite feeling healthier than he had his whole adult life, Draco’s heart was heavy.  He wasn’t sure what he’d done or said, but the way Hermione had fled his house led him to believe something, even if it was unknown to him, had happened.

 

The week seemed to drag as he thought about what to say to Hermione at his appointment on Friday.  However, an owl came early on Friday afternoon, nipping at Draco as soon as he took the letter from the bird’s leg.  He recognized Hermione’s neat cursive on the front of the note.

 

 

_Dear Draco,_

 

_I am no longer able to treat you, due to a conflict of interest on my part.  Healer Dacyczyn at St. Mungo’s would be my recommendation for futher treatment.  I have appreciated your patronage these past few years and wish you a healthy, happy life._

 

_Hermione Granger_

 

 

He read the note three times before crumpling it and throwing it at the wall.

 

“Fuck,” he bit out.  

 

Most of his life, he avoided emotional confrontations, even more so after the war.  When he’d buried his parents, he’d done so alone, grieving in private.  His marriage to Astoria had been characterized by ignoring each other’s shortcomings instead of fighting and chaste smiles when things were seemingly fine.  

 

So, while he had traditionally swallowed his feelings and painted a mask of indifference in the face of horrible loss, the glimmer of a better future was evaporating before his very eyes and he could not lose that possible life for himself and for Scorpius.

 

“Daddy?  I’m ready to see Rosie,” Scorpius said, toting a bag of books and toys.  

 

Draco picked up his son and kissed his soft cheek.  “Not for few hours, son.  Would you like to read your new book?”

 

“It’s in my bag,” Scorpius said, wiggling out of Draco’s arms to get to his pack.

 

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Hermione was in her office, looking through her ledger, when she heard a child’s happy titter.  

 

“Rosie, I’m in my office if you need me,” Hermione called.

 

As Hermione listened, she realized there were two children’s voices, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the second voice belonged to little Scorpius.  Before she had a chance to react, her door swung open and the two tots swarmed her.  In the short time she’d known Draco’s son, she’d grown attached to him.  And Rosie and Scorpius were kindred spirits, attached at the hip like they’d known each other their whole lives.

 

“Herminy!” Scorpius squealed, giving Hermione a sloppy kiss.  

 

She hugged the two little bodies to hers, inhaling their sweet scents, shoring herself up to deal with Scorpius’ father.  She was almost certain he wouldn’t show up after her terse note.  He came to stand in her doorway, a melancholy smile on his face as he watched her with the children.  

 

“Rosie, Scorp, why don’t you two go play in the telly room for a few minutes?”

 

Rosie took Scorp’s hand.  “Let’s go, Scorpy!  I want to see what you brought.”

 

Hermione almost began to cry when her daughter stopped to hug Draco, patting his leg almost in reassurance before continuing with Scorpius.  Draco made his way to the chair in front of her desk, slowly arranging his tall body, giving himself time to think before speaking.

 

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked, trying to assume her role as Draco’s Healer for the moment to push off the feeling of unease settling in her gut.

 

“I’m not here for that,” Draco said, his penetrating look showing her his serious intent.  “I’m here to tell you why your wish for me can’t happen.”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

He sighed.  “You said in your note that you wished me _a happy, healthy life_.  Well, that won’t be possible any longer.”

 

“Why’s that?” she whispered, swallowing down tears.

 

He leaned over the desk and grabbed her hands.  “Because I’m in love with you and I won’t be happy if you’re not in my life.”

 

“You are?”

 

His warm fingers stroked her hands.  “I’ve been absolutely crazy about you for a while.  I’m not a hero, not at all, but if you gave this thing between us a chance, I promise to love you for as long as you’ll let me.”

 

“I…” Hermione stopped, taking a stutter-y inhale.  “This isn’t just about sex?”

 

“No!  I mean, that part is amazing, but no, it’s about you and how wonderful you are to me and to Scorpius.  I adore you.”

 

Feeling a lightness make itself at home in her heart, Hermione went around the desk, took Draco’s face in her hands, and kissed him.

 

“Draco?” she said when they finally separated.  “I love you, too.”

 

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_Twelve Year Later_

 

Rose and Scorpius walked ahead of their parents as they made their way to Platform 9 ¾.  Draco walked beside their ten year old, Bram, while Hermione held hands with Cleo, their six year old.  

 

“Are you ready to do this next year?” Draco asked Bram.  

 

Bram puffed out his chest.  “I’m ready to go this year.”

 

Draco chuckled, well aware that Bram was his little Gryffindor.  “Well, I don’t think Mum would like that.”

 

“Mum will miss me,” Bran conceded.  “But Scorp and Rose will take care of me, even if they are Ravenclaws.”

 

Scorpius and Rose, not surprising either parent, had ended up in Ravenclaw.  Much to Draco’s delight, both had positions on the Quidditch team and spent hours in the summer taking lessons from their father.  All four children were close to their father, who they saw throughout the day, as he continued to work from home.  

 

Draco was taken aback when he looked across the platform and saw Harry Potter with his wife and son.  When Draco had asked Hermione to marry him, he had asked if he could legally adopt Rose.  Hermione loved the idea, but knew she needed to get Harry to give up his paternal role, even if it was only on paper.  Surprising her, Draco had found Harry and had him sign the necessary paperwork.  Draco knew Hermione and Harry had never had a romantic relationship, but he still couldn’t understand why Harry hadn’t wanted a relationship with Rose.  Rose was gifted, both academically and emotionally, with a knack for getting all walks of life to open up to her.  And he loved her for becoming Scorpius’ friend and confidante when he’d feared his son would forever be shunned for the sin of being a Malfoy.    

 

“I didn’t realize Harry’s son was starting school this year,” Hermione murmured to her husband as they stopped to stand beside each other.  “He’s Rose’s half-brother.”

 

“Looks like Rose is from the deep end of the gene pool,” Draco remarked.  Hermione had learned such comments usually came from a place of loyalty, no matter how snarky they sounded.

 

She shook her head, but pressed a kiss to her husband’s cheek.  “Behave, you.  I think Rose and I both lucked out.  Rose couldn’t have had a better father than you.”

 

Draco warmed from her praise, still deeply appreciated after so many years.  It still amazed him that she had taken a broken man and not only healed him, but transformed him into the man he was today: a husband, a father of four, a respected author once again accepted in wizarding society.  

 

Rose and Scorpius re-joined their family to say their goodbyes.  Hermione looked up at Scorpius as he ruffled her hair, causing her curls to erupt with a mind of their own.

 

“Oh, Scorp, I’ll miss you,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around his slim waist.  He looked so much like his father, but he was his own person and Hermione loved him for that.  He’d accepted Rose and Hermione into his little family without reservation, always quick to offer a smile or a hug.

 

“I’ll miss you, too, Mum.  Expect an owl from me with a detailed list of biscuits for my first care package.”

 

Hermione laughed and tightened her arms before letting go to hug her daughter.

 

“Rosie,” Hermione said, embracing her solid form and pushing her unruly dark hair out of her eyes.  Hermione’s gaze traveled to Harry’s son.

 

“I’ll keep an eye out for him,” Rose said with a nod to the little boy about to board the train, following her mother’s gaze.  “Take care of Daddy.”

 

“I will,” Hermione said, pressing a kiss to Rose’s forehead.

 

Distracted by their farewells, the group did not notice Harry Potter watching them.  He understood the power of love and saw it in spades with the Malfoys.  What he could have offered Hermione and Rose would have paled in comparison to the love Draco Malfoy had offered them.  Harry knew Rose and Draco’s son weren’t related by blood, but the way they interacted was as strong a familial bond as Harry had ever seen.  Harry’s gaze shifted and he found Draco watching him.  The blond gave him a gracious dip of the head, which Harry returned.  

 

 

 

Late that evening as Hermione sat at the big kitchen island as Draco cleaned up the kitchen, she examined him: after the first time they’d slept together, his body had began mending itself at a rapid pace.  He looked younger than he did when she began treating him and amazingly, she did as well.  Her body tapped into the healing magic of sex, causing her hair to shine, her skin to be rosy and smooth, and her body to keep the tone and firmness of youth.  After giving birth to three children, she had a softness to her breasts and stomach, but those qualities added to her femininity and allure.  Draco’s hair, which had started thinning in his mid-twenties, was as thick as it was when he was a teenager, while his body had developed muscles from his daily runs and time spent on his broom with the children.  Most noticeably, his eyes had lost the wariness he’d had so many years ago.  

 

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione wondered.

 

Draco levitated a stack of dishes into cupboard, then turned to her.

 

“While we were putting the kids on the train, I felt so fortunate to have this life with you and with them.  I’m very grateful.”

 

“I’ve been blessed, too.  You gave me the family I’ve always wanted.”

 

Stretching so his back gave a loud crack, he made his way to his wife and took her hand.  

 

“Come on, love.  I think I’m going to need a treatment tonight.”

Hermione laughed.  “Yes, you do seem a bit off.  I think I’ll be able to help you.”

 

“You’re a miracle worker, Healer Malfoy,” Draco said, slinging his arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek as they made their way through the darkened house to their bedroom.

 


	11. Ron the Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron Weasley finds his calling in Divination and can’t believe what he sees when a client asks him about her son’s love life.

Ron Weasley, although not the savior of the wizarding world or the brightest wizard of his age, was a talented young man.  Aside from his famous Gryffindor courage, he was excellent at chess, played Quidditch well when he wasn’t nervous about looking like an idiot, and had a natural affinity towards Divination.  In their earlier school years, he downplayed his talent, as his friend Hermione would have given him unending grief for it.

 

But after the war, when the Golden Trio decided to finish their seventh year at Hogwarts, Ron began spending time with Professor Trelawney in private tutorials about the finer acts of Divination.  After all they’d been through, neither Harry or Hermione gave him grief about this interest in the subject, simply chalking it up to something that made him feel like he had some control over his world.

 

Sybill was a patient, fascinating woman, when one put aside her penchant for random non sequiturs and got those horrid glasses off her face.  By Yule, Ron fancied himself in love with her and they began a torrid student-teacher affair, which was not exactly illegal, as he was of age, but even made Dumbledore’s portrait shake his head in confusion.

 

At the end of the school year, Ron had seen the demise of their relationship in his tea leaves and Sybill concurred when she checked her tarot cards.  They parted sadly, but with promises of continued friendship.

 

Harry convinced Ron to join the Aurors after graduation, but after four months of training, it was obvious to everyone law enforcement wasn’t for Ron.  He felt adrift, as Harry and Hermione seemed to be finding their places within the Ministry, but he went back to his love of Divination and saw his path.  It would not be easy, and he stood to be the butt of many jokes, but his future success and happiness was intertwined with his gift for divining the truth.

 

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_Ten Years Later_

 

“I have an appointment with Seer Weasley, Lucius.”

 

“Very good, dear.  Will you ask him about my investment in that Muggle technology stock?”

 

She approached her husband and kissed his cheek.  While Narcissa and Lucius had rebuilt the family’s reputation after the war with a combination of donations and Slytherin glad-handing, Draco had not fared as well.  He became introverted to the point of rarely leaving the manor.  He had spent the past few years combing through Severus Snape’s potions notes and was attempting to write a series of potions texts for Hogwarts students, which occupied his time and gave him an excuse to avoid social gatherings.  

 

“Of course, my love.  I will see you at supper tonight.”

 

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“Seer Weasley, I have one last question.”

 

Narcissa Malfoy was one of his regulars and for good reason.  He had given her financial and social predictions that allowed her family to regain footing in wizarding society.  He had only done so because he believed they had changed.  Plus, he liked that the most rich and influential witches and wizards came to him for advice.

 

“My son…well, he’s cut himself off from other people.  I think Draco would blossom if he had the love of a good witch, but at this rate that will never happen.  Will you tell me who his ideal match might be?  Perhaps if I knew I could help move things along.”

 

Ron had never liked Draco Malfoy, but he was a professional and would do his best for his client.

 

“I believe the crystal ball will be the best method to answer your question, Mrs. Malfoy.”

 

After getting to know the young Seer, she wished she and Lucius hadn’t been so hard on the Weasleys.  He was a perceptive young man, with a good sense of humor and easy on the eyes, as well.  

 

Using the ceremonial incense to allow the senses to access the magic of the crystal ball, Ron allowed his third eye to sharpen its focus.

 

“Spirits of time, allow us to see Draco Malfoy’s love match.”

 

He looked at the clouded crystal ball begin to form a picture and gave Narcissa information as it became clear to him.

 

“Hmm, he’s opening a door to a woman… he looks surprised but not unhappy…he takes her to his messy desk…”

 

Narcissa chuckled.  Draco’s desk was _always_ a disaster.

 

“The witch has got dark, curly hair and is hesitant with him…hmm…I get the feeling they share an academic interest…”

 

Ron watched the witch in question turn and realized he was looking at a younger Hermione.  _Merlin’s saggy balls_ , he couldn’t sell out Hermione to Mrs. Malfoy!  He would warn Hermione, who didn’t believe his predictions anyway, even though he had foretold her change in job from an employee in the Department of Mysteries to her position as Potions Mistress at Hogwarts.  There were little predictions here or there he’d offer her, but she always had some alternate explanation for Ron’s visions.  _Ah, well_ , as Sybill always said, some have a blind third eye.  

 

Ron allowed himself to stop seeing the scene and smiled up at Mrs. Malfoy’s expectant face.  

 

“Anything else, Seer?”

 

He shook his head.  “That is all I have been privileged to see today.  At least now you know there is someone, even if we don’t know exactly who she might be.”

 

Narcissa gave a small sigh.  If she just knew who her son’s perfect match was, she could invite the girl over and perhaps get Draco to join them for tea.  Well, she would hold out hope.  At the very least, she knew there was someone out there for him.

 

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“Don’t tell her.”

 

“Harry, I have to!  I want her to be prepared for the inevitable.”

 

Hermione walked into the room holding baby Albus.  

 

“Don’t tell who what?” she asked suspiciously.

 

Harry took the baby from her, giving Ron a subtle shake of his head.  

 

“Ronald Weasley, do you have something to tell me?”

 

She wouldn’t believe him anyway, he reasoned as he shrugged his shoulders at Harry.  Perhaps he could leave out the love part of the prediction.

 

“I believe I know who inherited Snape’s library.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I was with a client and I _saw_ Snape’s work on the desk of Draco Malfoy.”

 

“Weren’t you looking for Snape’s journals when you started teaching at Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

 

“I was, but I found some other excellent resources.  Who was your client?”

 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Ron said, feeling slightly let down that Hermione wasn’t more excited about Snape’s journals, but relieved she wasn’t ready to _Reducto_ Malfoy’s door for a look at Snape’s things.

 

“Huh.  Well, I should be getting back to the castle.  I have early classes tomorrow.” 

 

She kissed the baby and waved to her friends, making her way to the Floo.   

 

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Draco looked up from his book at the sound of the Floo in his bedroom sitting area. 

 

“Professor,” he said with a drawl.

 

Hermione smirked and made her way to the blond.  He pushed his chair away from his desk and pulled her onto his lap.  

 

“Where were you tonight?”

 

Hermione nuzzled his face.  “I was with the boys.”

 

Over the years, Draco had come to accept Ron and Harry, because Hermione loved them.  They were essentially her family and they, at least so far, posed no threat to their relationship.  Hermione had written to Draco when she discovered from Headmistress McGonagall that he had inherited Snape’s library.  They wrote back and forth for several months until he offered to have her over to see their former teacher’s papers and books.  After so many months of writing, both Draco and Hermione felt a rapport and spent the entire day together, pouring over the wizard’s writing.  Draco confessed his interest in putting together a new set of textbooks based on Severus’ work and Hermione was excited to assist him in that endeavor.  

 

They were friends for over two years before Draco decided to act on his interest in her.  Hermione had assumed Draco didn’t find her attractive, but was pleased to have made a friend who shared her interests and made her laugh.  She’d had a terrible crush on him, but refused to act on it lest it break the bond they’d formed.  But when he’d first kissed her, for the first time in twenty-six years, she felt the kind of chemistry that made her want for more. 

 

Draco’s hands had wandered underneath her shirt and lazily stroked the soft skin under her breasts.  She sighed happily, enjoying the touch of her handsome wizard.  Though they’d courted in private, or maybe because they’d courted in private, Hermione felt like Draco was hers and hers alone.  She didn’t want to share him with anyone else, but the time for them to debut their relationship was quickly approaching.  

 

He lifted her t-shirt to expose her breasts, kissing the skin around her areola with a soft, open-mouth.  Hermione closed her eyes and threaded her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.  She could feel his erection under her bottom and she wanted more.  She pulled back and stood, keeping eye contact as she began to strip.  They eyed each other hungrily as they divested themselves of their clothes.  When Draco finally pulled off his shorts, Hermione took a moment to admire his jutting erection.  She knelt before him and lightly kissed the tip.

 

“Don’t tease me, love,” he groaned.  He was sitting in his desk chair and had a fabulous view of her body.  She had a curvaceous figure, with full breasts and a round, pert arse.  She looked up at him and licked her lips, then took his cock into her mouth.  Hermione kneaded his thighs as she went lower and lower, until her nose was bouncing against the hairs at his groin.

 

“Fuck, that feels amazing.”

 

She moaned, knowing he loved the vibration of her voice around him.  Her fingers slipped between his legs to massage the sensitive area between his bollocks and his back entrance.  He reached down and began pinching at her nipples.  She pushed his cock between her tits and he began to fuck them.  

 

“I’m going to come,” he groaned, relishing the feel of her mouth and hot breasts around his prick.

 

The finger massaging between his legs pushed slightly into his arsehole and he exploded, a strangled moan bursting from his lips.  Hermione drank down his cum, knowing he was awash in pleasure and enjoying the way his body responded to hers.  She looked up to find him watching her with possessive heat.  With a last gentle suckle, she took him out of her mouth and returned her lover’s gaze.

 

“Your turn,” Draco said, picking up his wand and clearing off his desk.  He said a quick cushioning charm and watched her sit back on the desk, spreading her legs for him.  He’d never known how beautiful a woman’s body could be until he began sleeping with this clever witch.  She was passion, comfort, and happiness to him and Draco was proud he could give her pleasure, too.  

 

Already glistening with need, he began to trace the plump lips of her cunt.  His touch was about flaming her desire, one torturous step at a time.  She knew his game and enjoyed being a participant.

 

She could feel his hot breath on her body as he breathed her in, then gently licked her seam.  The cool night air felt delicious against his warm touch.  He pushed one finger into her, sitting back to watch her body take him in.  

 

“You’re so wet.  Were you thinking about me today?”

 

She arched her back as he bent over her body to nip her clitoris.  

 

“Gods, yes.  I’ve been wanting you to touch me for hours.”

 

He immersed himself in her pussy, pulling her little bud into his mouth and sucking and fingering her with a steady pump.  But then he slowed and stopped, leaving her incomplete.  She knew what he wanted.  He found it irresistible when his intellectual, pragmatic partner talked dirty to him.

 

“I wanted to sit astride you, your big cock in me.  I want my breasts bouncing as I fuck you and watch you enjoying the show.”

 

He blew on her as he pulled back.  Draco swirled a finger in her and used her juices to slightly push into her puckered entrance.  

 

“Oh, God, that feels sinful,” Hermione moaned as she was fingered in both places.  When his tongue began to flick her engorged clitoris, naughty words began to flow from her.

 

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, your tongue is sodding magical!  I can’t wait until you can wake me up with your mouth on my tits and on my pussy.”  He pushed a second finger into her slit and pushed further into her arse.  Her back arched, pushing her little button into his face.  “I want this every day, every bloody day, when you start working at the school.”

 

Her hips were thrusting against his hands and his mouth, but she wanted more.

 

“I want you to bend me over and sink your hard cock into me,” she groaned.

 

And faster than she could imagine, Draco flipped her over the desk, her ass in the air and shoved his length into her.  He bent over her back, thrusting into her with reckless abandon.  

 

“Was this what you wanted?  For me to fuck you like a wild animal?”

 

“Yes, oh my God, yes!”

 

He pulled back so he could pump into her body at a deeper angle and slapped the full globe of her arse.  He alternated between a stinging slap and a hard thrust of his hips.  

 

“Rub yourself.  I’m going to fuck you tight ass.”

 

He pulled out, his penis glistening with moisture, and slowly pushed into the vice-like grip of her back entrance.  Hermione was whimpering and moaning at the intrusion, but the sensation of being filled was welcome.  When he was fully seated, she rubbed her clit in tight circles, the tingling of stimulation distracting her from the slight burn of her partner’s cock stretching her body.  His strokes were shallow and slow, but she knew he loved to penetrate her back passage.  

 

“You’re my little whore, Granger.  You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you, you horny, bloody sexy witch.”

 

“Yes, whatever you want,” she gasped as he began to speed up.  Her fingers began a frantic rhythm over her nerve-laden pearl.

 

“I’m going to come,” he groaned and bit her shoulder.  The sharp bite combined with the warm sensation of his ejaculate took Hermione over the edge.  

 

“Fuck!” she shrieked as her cunt clenched in orgasm.

 

She felt soft kisses on her sweaty neck as she came down from her high.  

 

“Merlin, woman, I love you,” Draco whispered into her damp hair.  

 

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Ron woke with a start and sat up.  

 

_Holy fucking shite.  That scene of Malfoy and Hermione was the bloody past, not the future!  That’s why she acted to unaffected when I told her about Snape’s notes, because she already knew The Ferret had them._

 

He used his wand to cast _Lumos_ and Summoned his deck of tarot cards, shuffling them easily over his thick comforter.  Having an insight into the true nature of things, Ron could see Hermione and Malfoy in the cards and it ended with them together, creating a better life than the could apart.  The Lovers card began the spread with the Ten of Cups coming up last, signifying a happy family and warm home.  _Well, that was…good_ , Ron supposed.  He had known it would take someone as much a force of nature as Hermione to complete her circle, and she had found that in Draco Malfoy.  

 

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“Are you ready to do this?”

 

Draco laughed.  “Granger, we should have done this before now.  We’re letting our friends know we got married and I’m taking a teaching position at Hogwarts.  My poor mother’s going to positively die.”

 

And although Narcissa Malfoy thought her son was always hiding away in his room, he and Hermione spent time at her room in the castle and they spent quite a bit of time in the Muggle world, which both of them enjoyed since they weren’t constantly accosted with attention.  

 

Hermione looked at the thick band of platinum inlaid with brilliant diamonds and topped with a three-carat round ruby.  “I don’t want to share you.”

 

He hugged her to his side.  “You never have to share me.  I’m yours and you’re mine.  Come on, love, let’s do this.”

 

They made their way down the stairs to one of the larger sitting rooms in Malfoy Manor to find her friends and his parents, who looked up in confusion.  Well, all except Ron, who had known about the two of them for a few weeks.

 

“Welcome,” Draco said, his hand entwined with Hermione’s.  “I’m pleased to announce that Hermione and I married last night at Gretna Green.”

 

They were met with quiet, until Ron began clapping and shouting, “Cheers to the happy couple!”

 

The others followed suit and soon the newlyweds were engulfed in hugs and given well-wishes.  Draco found himself grateful for Ron’s enthusiasm.  And while Hermione thought Divination was a bunch of hooey, Draco did not.  He suspected the red-headed man was the real deal and had known about him and Hermione.  

 

Narcissa tearfully hugged her son, and then took her new daughter-in-law by the shoulders and examined her before pulling her into a warm, motherly embrace.

 

“Thank you,” she said into Hermione’s ear.  “I could not have wished for a better witch for my son.”

 

The elves, who had been given notice by Draco to prepare a luncheon feast, ushered the group into the dining hall.  The women all oohed and aahed over Hermione’s ring and asked about the elopement, which all found romantic.  As they ate, Hermione asked the group for their attention.

 

“We have another announcement,” she said.

 

“A grandchild?” Lucius asked with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.  

 

Draco shook his head with mirth in his eyes.  “Not yet, sir.  One thing at a time.”

 

Hermione looked fondly on her new father-in-law, who was taking their marriage surprisingly well.  “Draco has accepted the position as the Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House.  And Minerva is retiring and the faculty of the school has voted me in as the new Headmistress.”

 

Narcissa looked as if she might faint, she was so pleased.  Her son had married and had procured a job he was sure to excel in.  It appeared her worries had been for not.  

 

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“Seer Weasley, may I ask you a question about my son and his new wife?”

 

Ron took in the lovely Mrs. Malfoy and smiled sheepishly.  He knew where this was going.      

 

“When can I expect a grandbaby?”

 

“As a personal favor to _my_ best friend and her husband, I’m not going to answer that.”

 

Narcissa patted the young man’s hand.  “Very well.  I guess things will fall into place with or without my help or your predictions.”

 

“Very true.  I had a great date last Friday night.  Would you like to help me interpret a deck to see if we might be a good match?  It’s often difficult for a Seer to understand his own future.”

 

She took the deck from him and cast the Romance Spread, to help him determine whether the witch was a true mate or just a bit of fun.

 

“Can I inquire as to the young lady’s identity?”

 

“It’s Pansy Parkinson.”

 

Mrs. Malfoy stopped her examination of the cards and looked at the Seer who had become a friend of sorts over the years.  

 

“I don’t need to see the future to know you two would make a great couple.  Now, tell me about this date…”

 

Ron’s intuition, which had always served him well, told him Mrs. Malfoy was right.  He swept up the cards and sat back as the older witch looked at him expectantly.  If Hermione and Malfoy could find love over the diaries of the Bat of the Dungeons, maybe something would come of his date with the bloody hot, black-haired Slytherin.  

 

Sometimes letting the future unfold on its own was the wisest course.  

 


	12. The Family He Never Knew He Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after Hermione disappeared from his life, Draco sees her in Diagon Alley with a little boy who appears to be her son.

 

 

To be fair, he never said they were exclusive.

 

When Draco had quietly tried to slip out of bed the previous evening, Hermione had told him they needed to talk.  Draco put her off, asking her to come see him after lunch when he had a break in his schedule.

 

So when Hermione walked into Draco’s office to find him shagging some witch from the Budgets Department, she’d felt like her heart was being ripped to shreds, but he’d told her over and over that he wasn’t ready for anything serious.  Apparently he’d told her the truth, but she had thought after all the time they’d spent together that she might mean more to him than a warm body with which to satiate himself.  In the back of her mind, she knew he slept with other women, but since she didn’t actually see him with anyone else, it was easy to push that knowledge out of her mind.  

 

For Hermione, their association had all the hallmarks of a relationship, except that one of the participants was happily fucking other witches.  

 

Draco was so absorbed in the other witch that Hermione was able to slip out of the office, run to the loo, and hurl for the second time that day.  Her chest constricted with the unwelcome knowledge that she had allowed herself to be used by someone she loved.  After ten minutes of deep breathing to calm herself, she went to Minister Shacklebolt’s office and asked him to send her abroad for any dignitary work he needed done.  He’d been surprised by her request, since her star had been rising at a rapid pace in her work with the Wizengamot, but the manic sheen to her eyes told him if he didn’t find something for her abroad, she’d quit.  And the wizarding political landscape needed people like Hermione to bring a sense of balance.

 

She cleaned off her desk, thanked her boss, and took the rest of the day off to prepare for her departure.      

 

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“Did you hear that Granger up and left yesterday?  I heard she took a job as an ambassador.”

 

Draco stopped and listened outside his colleague’s door.

 

“No, you can’t be serious!  My work load is going to double,” a woman moaned.

 

“Don’t I know it,” the man agreed.  

 

Hermione had never mentioned any interest in dignitary work.  Since it was almost lunch, Draco decided to make a visit to Hermione’s flat.  But when he got there, she didn’t answer.  He knew the complex ward she used on her door and unspelled it to find the flat absolutely empty.  

 

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Hermione had taken the hardest position Kingsley had available, as an ambassador to several of the most war-torn areas of Africa.  The Muggle wars had devastated the areas wizards harvested many ingredients that most of Europe depended on for many sensitive potions.  Currently, prices on those ingredients were so exorbitant that St. Mungo’s and the Ministry were having to find alternate potions to brew.   

 

Where she was going, there were few amenities, but she was okay with that.  Hermione needed something to take the focus off her broken heart.

 

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Weeks passed and Draco learned Hermione was working in Africa and in areas so remote, it would take an owl weeks to take a letter and return to England.  He sent her three letters, but they came back unopened.  Maybe the owls couldn’t find her or, more likely, she sent them back.  Either way, she had made it obvious she wanted nothing to do with him.  

 

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“How many months along?” the old witch asked, gesturing to Hermione’s swollen abdomen.

 

They walked in a field of Dittany, the foundational piece to many healing potions. 

 

“Five months,” she said, absentmindedly rubbing her bump.  

 

“Your husband is excited?”

 

With a lump in her throat, Hermione shook her head.  The witch accepted her silence and they continued to walk, observing how the funds from the British Ministry of Magic were helping rejuvenate magical farming in the region.

 

The old witch stopped Hermione before they were to go their separate ways.  “May I?” she said gesturing to Hermione’s stomach.

 

“Alright,” Hermione said slowly, allowing the other woman to place both hands on her body.  She watched the brightly-clad witch close her eyes and begin to hum a lullaby.  

 

“You want to know the gender?”

 

Hermione thought for a moment.  “Yes.”

 

“It’s a boy.”

 

The witch gave Hermione a moment to process the information, noticing the sadness in her expression.  She felt for the young mother and wished her well.  It was clear to the intuitive older witch that the path ahead would be convoluted for this lovely, bright girl.

 

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Draco walked through Diagon Alley, making his way to Madam Malkin’s to pick up a new set of dress robes.  A familiar flash of brown curls made him stop and look into Fortescue’s.  The witch who had disappeared from his life for no reason apparent to him was wiping the mouth of a cherubesque toddler.  He stepped closer to the window and saw that it was indeed Hermione and if he wasn’t mistaken, the little boy was her son.

 

An unexpected shock of grief filled him.  _Of course_ a witch like Granger had found another wizard and had moved on from him.  Draco had always resisted his instinct to bond to her, knowing that any deep relationship he formed with someone would only end in disaster.  His behavior with women had always been somewhat destructive and he never truly understood why Hermione hadn’t called him out on it.  

 

Oddly, after Hermione had left for Africa, his promiscuous tendencies had quelled.  Random one-offs with random witches lost their appeal and Draco began to spend more and more time at the office.  It was painful to admit that he had loved her, _still loved her_ , although he never would have said any such thing to her.  So, _thank Merlin_ he hadn’t laid himself out to her, as she hadn’t thought enough of him to even tell him she was leaving the bloody country.

 

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It was still hard for Draco to believe his old friend Pansy had married Ron Weasley, but they seemed to be happy. Their son, Magnus, was quietly playing on the floor as a house elf brought them a tray of tea and biscuits.  

 

“I saw Granger in Diagon Alley,” Draco mentioned, watching Pansy for signs of hidden information.  Unfortunately, Pansy was a Slytherin through and through and didn’t give anything away unless she intended to do so.

 

She nodded and took a sip of tea.  “They got back a couple of weeks ago.”

 

“The little boy I saw her with was her son?”

 

“Tristan.  He’s two.”

 

“She’s married?”

 

Pansy gave him an appraising look.  “No.”

 

Draco wanted to ask more, but Pansy had never approved of his ways with women.

 

“I wasn’t planning on approaching her.”

 

“Good.”

 

Draco turned to look at Magnus, his red hair gleaming in the late afternoon light.  He was more Weasley than Parkinson in looks, but his personality screamed Slytherin.  He wondered what Hermione’s child was like.  Probably intelligent, stubborn, and mischievous, like his mum.  

 

“Who’s the boy’s father?”

 

Pansy shook her head.  “She won’t say.  Harry probably knows, but he won’t say anything to Ron.  He and Gin went to Africa to help her after Tristan was born.”

 

“I wrote to her a few times after she left, but my owls came back unopened.”

 

She shrugged.  “She saw you _with_ another witch before she left.  There was nothing left for her to say to you.” 

 

He hadn’t exactly been discreet, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt Hermione.

 

“I always told her I didn’t want anything serious.  I was upfront about my intentions.”

 

“Indeed,” she said in a way that screamed her disapproval.  He knew Pansy cared about him, but she respected Hermione and would always be grateful to the Muggle-born for taking care of Ron throughout his childhood.  

 

Draco looked at Magnus and was glad to see him absorbed with his toys.

 

“Do you think she’s happy?” 

 

Pansy considered his question. “I think she’s doing the best she can.”

 

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Hermione was rushing through the Ministry lobby for an appointment with Minister Shacklebolt, her large bag of documents impeding her progress to the elevator.  She had almost made it to the doors when they shut, leaving her waiting until another car made its way to the lobby.  

 

A few people made eye contact with her and smiled or wished her a good morning.  It was nice to be home, if only for a few weeks until her new assignment was worked out.  Tristan had been enjoying the Potter and Weasley children and the perks of being in a modern wizarding society.  They’d made a few too many trips to Fortescue’s for treats since Tristan had tasted his first bite of the incredible ice cream.  

 

She called Tristan her “little angel” because of his blond curls and rosy cheeks.  His hazel eyes were so sincere it was hard for anyone to resist his little boy charms.  She wondered if his father would be charmed by him, but immediately put that thought out of her mind.  Draco had always told her he didn’t want any person tying him down and she had seen first hand that he truly did feel that way.  The Malfoys were so damaged by the war, their family had splintered with Lucius leaving his wife and son and making a new life in Spain and Narcissa spending her time hiding in the manor.  Draco had dealt with his stress by working and shagging.  No, she had made the right decision, leaving so she could make her own way with her son.  It would have been so much more painful to try to convince a reluctant Draco to be involved in their lives.  

 

The elevator opened and she got in, readying herself to present her findings to the Minister and his advisors.  

 

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At lunch, Draco decided to make his way to Diagon Alley for something better than the fare he could get in the Ministry cafeteria.  He stepped out of the elevator and almost collided with Hermione Granger.

 

“Granger,” he said, righting himself and straightening his robes.

 

“Hello, Draco,” she said with a smile.

 

After she had left and never replied to his letters, he’d expected her to sneer at him.  He’d been hurt and then fairly angry at her for several months, but eventually those feelings had turned into resignation.  She was a good woman.  A better witch than someone like him deserved. 

 

“You’re back.”

 

They walked alongside each other through the huge lobby.  

 

“Only for a few weeks.  My next assignment will take us to Mexico.”

 

He was disappointed, but tried not to let it show.  “Do you have plans for lunch? Maybe we can catch up.”

 

She looked at her watch.  “I have a couple of hours.  Sure, lunch would be great.”

 

Draco placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to one of the large Ministry fireplaces.  

 

“Are you alright going into the Alley?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

They were spit out near a bank of fireplaces at Gringotts.  It surprised Hermione to notice these new fireplaces for witches and wizards to take the Floo network.  The slow moving wizarding world had changed a bit since she’d been gone.  She wondered what else had changed.

 

Draco had so many questions to ask her, but he decided to wait until they were in the privacy of the restaurant booth.  So instead he watched her and she was as beautiful as she had been before she left, but her body was thinner and her skin held a golden glow from her time in Africa.  Her freckles were more pronounced and her hair was lighter than he’d ever seen it.  

 

As soon as they were seated, Draco cast a privacy charm.  

 

“You left.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “I had to.”

 

“I’ve missed you,” Draco said quietly.  He hadn’t seen Hermione in three years.  It was a possibility he wouldn’t get the opportunity to see her for the foreseeable future.

 

“I missed you, too, Draco.  Have you been well?” she asked, changing the subject.  

 

“I have.  My mother asked after you just a few weeks ago.”

 

“Did she?  That’s thoughtful.  Is she improving?”

 

“A bit.”

 

There was so much Draco wanted to ask Hermione, so much he had to say to her, but the words were stuck in his polite upbringing and his heart, which had atrophied with a lack of care over the years.  So instead they ordered their lunch and talked about nothing consequential, until curiosity got the better of Draco.

 

“I saw you with a little boy the other day, at Fortescue’s.  Is he your son?”

 

“Yes.  Tristan.  He’ll be three in a couple of months.”

 

Quickly doing the calculation in his head, Draco realized Hermione had either gone to Africa pregnant or had become pregnant quickly after getting there.  She must have seen the dawning question on his face, because her expression became guarded.

 

“He’s mine, isn’t he?” he asked quietly.

 

She nodded and continued to take delicate bites of her salad.  

 

“You never wanted anybody tying you down,” she said with a sad shrug.  “The last time I saw you, you were shagging someone on your desk.  I was planning on telling you I was pregnant, but I couldn’t after that.”

 

“I can help, now that I know.  I’d like to get to know my son.”

 

Hermione put her napkin on the table and placed a few Galleons near her plate.

 

“We’re leaving again in a few weeks, but I’ll let you meet him if you like.”

 

He nodded, a tightness in his throat preventing him from speaking.  

 

“You can come over tomorrow afternoon.  We’re staying with the Potters.”

 

“Okay,” Draco said quietly, trying not to let his voice betray him.  He watched Hermione leave the restaurant, his mind stunned at what he had learned.

 

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 “Hi,” Tristan said to the tall man.

 

“Hello,” Draco said, crouching to better speak to the boy.  “I’m Draco.”

 

“I’m Twistan Gwanger,” the child said, putting out his hand for Draco to shake.

 

Draco had seen pictures of himself as a toddler and thought this little boy was a slightly darker version of himself.  Tristan _was_ his son.  Of this he had no doubt.

 

“Tristan,” Hermione said, “would you ask Kreacher to bring us some snacks?”

 

“Yes!” Tristan said happily.  He loved the grumpy old elf and took any opportunity to study or speak to him, although Kreacher was adept at avoiding children.

 

Draco watched the little boy head to the kitchen.  “He’s perfect.”

 

“Isn’t he?” Hermione said with a smile.  “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

He didn’t think Hermione was exaggerating.  She was so loving and happy around her son.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so peaceful as she was around the little boy.

 

Tristan rejoined them followed by a thrilled Kreacher, who was beside himself to be serving the son of the Noble House of Black.  The elf bowed low at Draco’s feet, pleased to serve the son of Narcissa Black Malfoy.  After Draco thanked the elf, Tristan bowed to his mother and Draco, imitating Kreacher in his toddler voice.

 

“Noble House of Black,” Tristan rumbled, a sly smile on his face as he looked at the blond stranger.  “Tea?”

 

“Mummy will serve you, oh Tristan of the Noble House of Granger,” Hermione said, pouring a bit of tea with a lot of milk for the boy.

 

“I be of the Noble House of Black, Mummy!” Tristan said with a bow.

 

“Is that so?” Hermione said lightly, but she felt uncomfortable at her son’s words.

 

The three of them drank their tea and Tristan snuck biscuits until he ran off to see James and Albus.  The two adults drank their tea in silence until Draco could no longer stay quiet.

 

“I am truly sorry I hurt you.”

 

She hadn’t been expecting those words.  “I…you told me not to expect anything from you.”

 

“It’s just—“

 

“It’s in the past.  We’ve moved on, right?”

 

But the fact was, Draco hadn’t moved on.  Hermione leaving had been a punch to the gut…and now, to find out he had a son he might never get to know.  It was a sorrow unmatched in his life.

 

“I haven’t.  Moved on, that is.”

 

Hermione put down her tea.  “There was nothing to move on from, Draco.  I didn’t mean anything to you.  You showed me that in the most obvious way.”

 

“I was always trying to distract myself from my unhappiness.  But you must believe you meant more to me than those one-offs.”

 

Hermione stood, her old hurt making its way to the forefront of her mind.  “You should go.  I let you meet Tristan and there is nothing left to say.”

 

“Hermione—“

 

“No, Draco.  I made a monumental mistake in putting up with you for so long.  The only good thing that came of that time was my baby.  So, please, please leave.”

 

Her eyes were shiny and her hand trembled slightly as she began to put the tea service on the tray.  When he touched her arm, she recoiled.

 

“Kreacher!”

 

The elf Apparated into the room with a pop.

 

“Yes, Friend of Harry Potter?”

 

“Please escort Mr. Malfoy out.  Thank you.”

 

She left the room, most likely in search of her son.  Draco followed the wizened elf to the Floo, but little Tristan poked his head around the corner.

 

“Bye,” he said, smiling at Draco.  

 

Draco beckoned him over and kneeled to speak to the boy.  

 

“Can I give you something?”

 

“Okay,” Tristan said, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

 

Draco took off his Malfoy crest ring.  “Would you wear this?  It’s a very special ring.  Very old.”

 

Kreacher looked at the exchange apprehensively, but didn’t try to stop the son of the House of Black.

 

“Is pwetty,” Tristan said, gently touching the onyx and emeralds in the gold ring.  “I give it to Mummy.”

 

“It’s for _you_ ,” Draco said, putting the heavy ring on Tristan’s chubby hand.  Magically, the ring sized down to fit the child.  “Now you can come visit me whenever you like.  I live at Malfoy Manor.”

 

Tristan admired the ring.  “Bye, Dwaco.”

 

“Goodbye, Tristan,” Draco said, leaving before Hermione found out what he had done.  It had been impulsive, but he didn’t want this to be the only time he saw his son.  He planned to stay in Tristan and Hermione’s lives.  He had to.  They were his family. 

 

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He didn’t see Hermione or Tristan after that.  Draco had never felt as alone as he did after finding out the woman he loved had his son, and yet he was not to be a part of their little family.  

 

They’d gone to Mexico so Hermione could negotiate trade for the British Ministry with the magical indigenous people.  The Muggle drug cartels had used unscrupulous wizards and witches to take over the Mexican government.  Hermione’s job would be delicate, but she had proven her ability to work with both the magical and Muggle governments and to boot, she could take care of herself.  A security detail had been assigned to Hermione and Tristan, with an Auror acting as a nanny for the young boy.  Draco wasn’t sure why Hermione was going into such turbulent situations with Tristan by her side, but he acknowledged he had some hand in chasing her away from her friends and family.  He would do almost anything to get them to come back, but once again, she ignored any communication Draco sent her way.

 

So it was with a sinking in his stomach that he greeted a frantic Harry Potter five months after Hermione and Tristan had left England.  

 

Harry closed Draco’s office door and cast a Muffliato on the office.

 

“Tristan has been taken by the Sinaloa Cartel.  The Auror who was supposed to be protecting him was Imperiused and handed him over to kidnappers.  Here’s the thing, Malfoy,” Harry said, running a hand through his thick, black mop of hair.  “The Malfoy crest ring you gave him was sent to Hermione with a ransom letter demanding the equivalent of two million Galleons.  Hermione can cover one hundred thousand and I’ll put in a million, but would you cover the other nine hundred thousand?”

 

Draco stood and began pulling on his coat.  “I’ll cover it all, Potter.  I’m going with you to Mexico to see to my son and Hermione.”

 

“Now’s not the time for you to try to work out your issues with them, Malfoy.”

 

Draco turned on Harry, his fear for Tristan’s safety making him dangerous.  “It’s not a request.  They’re my family.  It’s my fault they’re in this situation to begin with.  I have to make this right.”

 

Harry looked at the wizard and remembered this man had been a child soldier as much as he had been.  He’d seen horrible things and had come out damaged, but in one piece.  And as much as he hated to admit it, Draco might be able to help in ways he could not.

 

“Alright, Malfoy.  I’ll collect you from Malfoy Manor with a Portkey in an hour.”

 

Draco gave him a sharp nod and left the office behind Harry, hastily making his way home.

 

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Upon seeing Harry and Draco, Hermione burst into tears.  Draco ran to her, gathering her in his arms.  

 

“We’ll get him back.  We’ll do whatever we have to do to get him back.”

 

She nodded, inhaling Draco’s hauntingly familiar scent. 

 

“Hermione, you and Malfoy need to come with me to the Auror’s central command room.  We’re going to scry for Tristan.  Any object you have that’s valuable to him or a sample of his hair would be helpful.”

 

Hermione grabbed a bag and ran around her small flat collecting anything that might help them locate her little boy.  Draco felt helpless as he watched Harry making notes on a small pad of parchment.

 

“What can I do?” Draco asked Harry.

 

“Support Hermione,” he said, but then lowered his voice.  “The Mexican drug cartels usually don’t leave survivors, Malfoy.  It might be bad.  Be prepared for the worst.”

 

Draco nodded, shocked at Potter’s bluntness.  He’d met Tristan once, but the thought of his son, _their_ son, being killed was unfathomable to Draco.  If he could, he would do everything he could to make up for his sins, starting with treating Hermione and Tristan with as much care and consideration as he could offer. 

 

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Hours went by with the no word from the kidnappers.  The Aurors couldn’t get a bead on the boy, their scrying turning up nothing.  Draco and Hermione stayed to the side as Harry and the Aurors worked every angle they could to try and find Tristan.

 

Draco held Hermione’s hand, unhappy that it took the disappearance of their son for them to acknowledge their connection to one another.  When night fell, Draco thought Hermione looked like she was about to faint from a combination of nerves, hunger, and exhaustion.

 

“You need to eat something.  Let’s find out where we can get some food.”

 

Hermione nodded mutely, allowing Draco to walk her to the hotel restaurant with two Aurors trailing behind them.  She leaned into him, her tear-streaked face the saddest thing Draco had ever beheld.  He imagined he didn’t look much better, although he did manage not to cry, even though he wanted to.

 

They sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, Hermione letting Draco order for the both of them.  She stared at the table.

 

“Drink some water, love,” Draco urged her.  

 

She followed his directions, like a small child who needed her father’s help.  Never before in her life had she felt so helpless.  Her baby was with people who would hurt him, _kill him_ , for bloody Galleons.  It was unfathomable that human beings would do this to a child.  She would have put herself into Tristan’s place in a heartbeat if the option had been available.

 

Two sandwiches were delivered and both parents managed to eat a few bites.

 

“You two are coming home when we get Tristan back.”

 

“Okay,” Hermione whispered.

 

“I want you to live at the Manor.  You’ll both be safe there.”

 

She nodded and Draco wondered if she knew what she was agreeing to.  

 

“This is my fault,” she murmured, turning her horrified gaze on him.  “I couldn’t be near you, so I left and took us to places I never thought you’d step foot in.  I put Tristan in harm’s way.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Hermione.  I was horrible to you, but I promise you I’m not who I used to be.  I don’t sleep around; I haven’t been with anyone in years, actually.  Without you, I lost any deep friendship or love and after finding out about Tristan, I realized I’d lost my family.  In time, do you think you would ever be able to forgive me?”

 

She stared at him for a moment, considering what she should say, but finally, she opted for the truth.

 

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

 

He let out a breath he didn’t even realize been holding in and took Hermione’s hand in his.  He knew the timing for his confession was abysmal, but there was no way on Merlin’s green earth that he was letting Hermione go.

 

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Several hours later, a hawk delivered a note, with the time and location for the exchange of funds for the little boy.  The briefcase of bills had been imbued with a new and undetectable tracking spell, which would hopefully lead the authorities to the people who took Tristan Granger.

 

Draco and Hermione waited near the drop-off site, ready to Portkey Tristan to a Ministry appointed location with a Healer waiting for them.  A grizzled old Auror made the exchange, motioning to the British faction that Tristan was alive, but sedated.  The kidnapper Disapparated as soon as the briefcase of bills was checked.  Several other pops of Disapparition sounded a second later, as the other kidnappers left the area.  

 

The Healer determined that Tristan was healthy, but had been given a Sleeping draught and advised Hermione to contact her if the little boy didn’t wake within ten hours.  Two Aurors collected the trio and took them to a private home in a dark, quiet neighborhood.  

 

Draco held Tristan and followed one of the Aurors to a bedroom.  He thanked the Auror and put Tristan under the covers in the big bed.  Looking over at Hermione, he found her staring at Tristan, her mouth quavering with her effort to repress a sob.  

 

He took her purse off her shoulder and gently pried off the thin jacket she wore.  He knelt and removed her shoes.

 

“Get into bed, love,” he suggested, taking her arm and helping her get under the covers.

 

Hermione curled herself around Tristan’s little body and looked at Draco.  

 

“Don’t go.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere.  Try to sleep, okay?”

 

In answer she nodded and closed her eyes.  Draco turned off the overhead light and cast a dim Lumos with his wand and settled into an armchair in the corner of the room.  The last 24 hours had been exhausting, but for the first time in years, he could imagine a future and it was filled with people he loved, rather than long days of work followed by nights spent alone.  

 

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Two days later, Harry had collected Hermione and Tristan’s things and arranged for transport back to England.  Draco Floo called his mother, to let her know he would be returning with Hermione and Tristan.  Narcissa had been shocked for a moment, as they never had guests, but told her son she would prepare for the new residents.  Draco had assured her he would tell her everything when they returned.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us?” Harry asked Hermione when Malfoy was quietly playing with Tristan in another room.  “You don’t owe Malfoy anything.”

 

“I know.  I think maybe I need this, Harry.”

 

Harry had been there when Tristan was a newborn and had seen how hard it had been for Hermione.  Not only had she been trying to care for a new baby, but she had been sad that she couldn’t share her joy with Draco.  Something so life-altering, so moving, should have been shared with the man she loved, but he had continuously pushed her away until she had broken.

 

“Can you trust him?”

 

“One day at a time,” she said with a small smile.

 

“Alright.  Just don’t put up with his shite.  Promise me.”

 

“I promise, Harry.”

 

The group returned to England to find the weather damp and cold.  Tristan was still subdued after his ordeal, although he had been asleep for most of the abduction, thank the Gods.  Hermione kept a close eye on him, but Draco had been incredibly good-natured about holding the little boy and staying in close proximity to Hermione.  

 

From the Ministry, they Apparated to the manor’s front steps.  It was prettier than Hermione remembered it, with colorful flowers and verdant shrubs dotting the landscape.  Draco led them into the house, alerting one of the elves to their arrival.  Within moments, Narcissa was walking towards the group.  As soon as she saw Draco holding Tristan, her eyes widened in understanding.  

 

“Mother, this is Tristan.”

 

She gave a tremulous smile to Hermione, but bypassed her to meet the boy Draco held in his arms.  

 

“Hello, Tristan,” the regal blonde said to the boy.

 

“Hi,” he said quietly, laying his head on Draco’s shoulder.  “Are you a pwincess?”

 

Narcissa chuckled, her eyes sparkling with tears.  “Are you hungry?  I have a small spread in the yellow sitting room.”

 

“You have diamonds in your eyes,” Tristan said, reaching a little hand out to touch Narcissa’s cheek.

 

By instinct, she reached her arms out to take the toddler and he went to her, allowing his grandmother to hug him to her thin frame.  Hermione watched the interaction with trepidation, although it appeared she had little to worry about.  Tristan had charmed the Malfoy matriarch within seconds of meeting him.  It would be good for Tristan to have another person he could call family, Hermione conceded.

 

Draco put his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and they followed Narcissa and Tristan to the yellow sitting room.  For the most part, the three adults avoided conversation until Hermione noticed Tristan beginning to yawn and fuss.

 

“Where can I put him down for a nap?” Hermione asked Draco.

 

Narcissa overheard and called one of the elves to escort Hermione and Tristan to the nursery she’d had prepared for the little boy.  Once the two Grangers were gone, Narcissa gazed at her son with a look that left little doubt about her line of thinking.

 

“Explain what is going on, Draco.”

 

He sighed and shook his head.  “I wasn’t good to Hermione.  I didn’t treat her with the respect she deserved and when she tried to tell me about the pregnancy, I put her off.  When she came to my office to try to speak with me, she found me with another witch.”

 

“Oh, son,” Narcissa said, shaking her head.

 

“She left the country and I didn’t hear from her.  About six months ago, I was in Diagon Alley and saw her with a little boy.  Once I found out his age, she admitted he was my son, but she still didn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?  Perhaps I could have spoken to her.”

 

“She was only in England for a few weeks and then she and Tristan went to Mexico for her new assignment.  I was resigned to the fact that she wanted me as far away from them as possible.  Honestly, I didn’t want to involve you.”

 

“Did you offer her any kind of help, Draco?  How is she able to work and raise Tristan on her own?”

 

“I suppose she makes enough money to hire nannies, Mother.”

 

Narcissa stared at her son, trying to understand how his life had gotten so complex.  She supposed their lives had fallen apart when the war began, although she didn’t understand how the two men in her life could take their loved ones for granted like they had.  

 

“Can you tell me what this trip was about?  The three of you look exhausted, and Miss Granger seems nervous.”

 

“Tristan was taken by one of the drug cartels.”

 

Narcissa gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

 

“Harry Potter came to me and told me there was a ransom for Tristan.  He and Hermione could cover about half, but he asked if I’d be willing to cover the other half.  I agreed and accompanied him to Mexico.  This whole bloody thing is my fault.  She never would have left England if I hadn’t pushed her away.”

 

“Pardon my bluntness, but it doesn’t sound like you were in a true relationship if you were with other witches.  Do you want to be with Miss Granger or is this about the boy?”

 

Draco knew he had hit a sore spot with his mother, since Lucius had left her for a much younger witch.  He hated to think his mum would place him in the same group as his father, but the evidence mounted against him as he described what had gone wrong with Hermione.

 

“Even without Tristan, I think I would have wanted her to give me another chance.  I…I love her and I want them to be my family.  She agreed to stay here with Tristan while she looks for a new position within the Ministry.  I drove her away before, but I plan to do everything I can to keep her and Tristan.”

 

Narcissa slowly nodded.  “If you betray her trust, she won’t forgive you again.  She will put the stability of the situation and care for her son above everything, Draco.  Make sure this is what you want.”

 

“It is,” he assured her.

 

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Hermione followed closely behind Tristan in the garden, her unreasonable fear that something would happen to him causing her to hover.  Narcissa watched them from her sitting room window and felt her heart constrict for Hermione.  She’d spent two years in constant fear for Draco’s safety during the war, always waiting for someone to tell her that he hadn’t survived a raid or for one of his fellow Death Eaters to turn on him in a moment of madness.  It truly was a miracle her son had made it out alive.  He was made of tougher stuff than she had anticipated, with his coddled upbringing.  

 

Narcissa made her way outdoors and caught up with Hermione.

 

“Let me watch him, dear.  You look like you could use a few minutes to yourself.”

 

“I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione said softly.  Her famed courage and confidence had dimmed after the events in Mexico.

 

“It’s my pleasure to watch him.  He is my grandson, after all.”

 

Hermione looked at the older woman with surprise.  “Draco told you?”

 

Narcissa nodded.  “He did, but he’s the spitting image of Draco at that age.  It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

 

Hermione was quiet, unsure of how to talk to this witch about the situation.  Draco had been supportive over the past few days since they’d arrived at the manor, but she was scared…for Tristan’s safety and for the place Draco wanted in their lives. The thing was, even after all the time they had spent apart and how he had hurt her, there wasn’t anyone else she had ever wanted.  And that made her feel pathetic.  What kind of woman went back to a man who basically told her she one of many witches?  She hadn’t run from veteran Death Eaters, corrupt Ministry officials, or even Bellatrix or Voldemort, but she had run from Draco Malfoy.  She had run to the ends of the earth to get away from him and she had put her Tristan in danger.  How could she ever forgive herself for that kind of cowardice?

 

So, instead of talking to Narcissa about the fact that she knew Tristan was her grandson, Hermione acquiesced to the woman’s offer.

 

“Thank you.  I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

 

Narcissa laid a hand on Hermione’s arm and looked as if she wanted to say something else, but instead gave her a squeeze.

 

“We’ll be fine.  Go.  Relax for a spell.”

 

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Draco found Hermione lowering herself into the deep tub in her guest room ensuite.  Her long hair was knotted on top of her head and showed off her graceful neck and delicate shoulders.  Draco had been admiring her naked form and didn’t think she knew he was there.  

 

“Would you like to join me?” she murmured.

 

She didn’t look at him as she settled into the water, her eyes closed as she sighed in pleasure.  Hermione heard the rustle of fabric as Draco removed his clothing.  She shifted forward so he could get into the tub behind her.  The moment his skin made contact with her skin, Hermione felt like she could finally breathe.  The comfort she gathered from Draco was instant.  His arms gathered her against him as she leaned back into his embrace.

 

Draco wondered why he had ever wanted to be with anyone else when he’d had this beautiful creature welcoming him into her bed.  Everything about her felt right to him: her scent, the warmth of her skin, the perfect way she fit against his body.  He had been so foolish, but blessed Merlin, he would make it up to her if she would let him.  

 

“I’ve missed this,” she admitted.  She hadn’t been with anyone since Draco.  Hadn’t wanted to begin something with someone else when her heart still stuttered whenever she thought of him.

 

“You’re perfection,” he whispered, kissing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

 

“You don’t have to say that.”

 

Twisting her body so she was straddling him, he looked into her eyes.  He could see the stress on her face, evident from the lavender circles under her eyes and the set of her mouth.

 

“I do need to say it.  And I will say it, every day if you’ll let me.”

 

If Hermione knew anything about Draco, it was that he didn’t lie to her.  Even though he hadn’t treated her with exclusivity in the past, he’d been honest about his intentions.  He was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them.

 

She looked into his sincere, heated gaze and lifted a hand to his face.  She traced her fingers across his jaw, meeting his eyes.  He was not the most handsome man she had ever seen, but there was something about the aristocratic lines of his face and his big, grey eyes that was beautiful.  That her beloved Tristan looked like his father made Draco even more striking to her. 

 

It was so natural to accept Draco’s lips against hers, to wrap her arms around his neck as his tongue touched her tongue in the most tantalizing way.  His kisses were always erotic, causing her body to tingle in anticipation of what was to come.  His hands traveled along her back, lightly grazing the tops of her round buttocks.  She shivered as her naked, wet center felt the light bump of his ready cock.  He gently bit her bottom lip and raised a hand to cup her breast.  She moaned when he began rolling her nipple between two fingers.

 

She used his cock to rub her clit, the small undulations of her hips centering on that bud of sensitive nerves.  Draco watched in awe as her head was thrown back and her lips parted as she moaned in longing.  Her hand wrapped around his length and she slid onto him.  The warm water and the slickness of her passage helped him ease into her.  She was so tight and hot, accepting him into her perfect little pussy.

 

As she established a rhythm, she regarded Draco before leaning in to kiss him.  He fondled her sensitive tips, rolling her nipples gently and then with a bit of a sharp tug as she began to rock her hips more quickly.  Their tongues dueled before Hermione threw her head back and moaned low and shuddered.  The feel of her channel pulsating around him was enough to make him come, his body seizing painfully for a moment before he spilled his seed into her body.  He continued to thrust into her until the last of his climax was wrenched from his body.

 

When Draco looked at Hermione’s face, he found tears in her eyes, even as she let her body relax into his.

 

“Why are you crying?”

 

A tear trickled down her cheek as she searched his face.

 

“Even with how hurt I was by you, I missed you so much.  After Tristan was born, I wanted you to see him.  I wanted you to see this perfect baby who you helped create, but I thought you’d reject both of us.”

 

Draco pressed a slow kiss to her neck before meeting her gaze.

 

“I loved you, you know?  But my behavior was more about the fact that I didn’t feel I deserved a real relationship with someone as good as you.  So I did things to try to marginalize my feelings.  Even then I knew it was stupid, but I kept finding willing witches like I suppose a drunk can always find a drink.  After you left, I felt betrayed, which I know was unfair, since I had been the one to push you away.  But when you were gone, I finally had the impetus to work through my issues.  In many ways I’m still the man you know, but maybe, if you’ll give me the opportunity, you’ll see that you can depend on me and that I could be a good father to Tristan.” 

 

She bit her lip in thought.  “Okay, Draco.  We can try to make this work.” 

 

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_Six Months Later_

 

“Tristan, Draco and I would like to talk to you.  Can you come sit with Mummy?”

 

Tristan put down his Quidditch figurines and made himself comfortable on his mum’s lap.  The little boy smiled at Draco and attempted to wink at him, which made Draco laugh.

 

“Do you remember asking me about your daddy?” Hermione asked her son.  It had been during their time in Mexico that Tristan had begun to ask her about his father.

 

“Uh huh,” he said with a nod.  “I wemember.”

 

“You’re a very clever boy,” Hermione said with a smile.  “Tris, Draco is your daddy.”

 

Tristan nodded.  “I know, silly!  How you think I don’t know that?”

 

Draco chuckled.  _Of course_ his brilliant son knew what the adults around him were scared to admit to the child.  “Were you holding out on us, buddy? Hmm?  How did you figure that out?”

 

“You love me and you love mummy.  You play with me and wead to me.  You’re my daddy,” he said simply.

 

Draco nodded and felt his eyes prickle with tears.  He’d wanted to tell Tristan immediately that he was his father and begin family life with Hermione and his son, but she had insisted they build their relationship first.  It was the right thing to do and after these months, Draco and Hermione had developed a solid foundation for their little family.  Hermione had come to trust Draco and knew he wanted to be a part of their lives.

 

“I’d like to be something more to you, too,” Draco said to a surprised Hermione, pulling the female version of the Malfoy ring out of his pocket.  “Would you agree to let me be your husband?”

 

Talk of marriage had never been a part of their conversation, though Hermione found herself thinking it would be nice to be married.  Her relationship with Draco had improved so much, she didn’t want to ask any more of him.  

 

“Yes!” Tristan said, bouncing in his mother’s lap.  

 

Hermione gave a watery chuckle.  “Y--yes.  I would love to be your wife.”

 

Draco gathered his son and soon-to-be wife in his arms, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s temple.  She couldn’t believe that from the disaster that was her previous relationship with Draco had grown this genuine, honest, and passionate basis for the rest of their lives.  It occurred to her that leaving Draco had given him the time he needed to figure out what was important, and though it had been very difficult to chart her own path, it seemed that path had brought her back to the man she had loved for so many years.     

 


	13. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the dust settles after the final battle, the wizarding world is left with hundreds of bodies to bury. Draco helps the dead make peace with their end, but will he be able to forgive himself for his part in the war?

 

“Another body found,” said an Auror as he levitated a black body bag into the warehouse.

 

Angus McLaughlin had seen some bloody horrible shit in his time working for Magical Law Enforcement, but the cavernous room filled with bodies was by far one of the most depressing things he’d ever seen.  The room was dark, quiet, and cold as one young man prepared each body for burial.  Angus didn’t know what to make of the boy, who treated each incoming body with respect and consideration and had been working tirelessly to get the deceased back to their families.  

 

“Would you place him in row sixteen, position F?” 

 

“Sure,” Angus said to the serious young man.    

 

“Auror McLaughlin, the people in rows five to eight are ready for your department to return them to their families,” the somber youngster said quietly.

 

The Auror nodded and began the harrowing task of letting people know their loved ones were ready for burial.

 

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“Arthur, it’s been ten days!” Molly Weasley sobbed quietly.

 

“We’ll get him back soon, love,” Arthur murmured to his wife, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

 

Charlie, who had been silently observing his parents’ grief, couldn’t bear his mother’s heartbroken cries.

 

“Mum, let me go to the Ministry and find out when we can bury Fred,” the dragon tamer said, taking his mum’s hand.  

 

“Thank you, Charlie,” Arthur said with a sad smile.  

 

Charlie made his way out of the kitchen.  Hermione caught up with the Weasley son she knew the least.  

 

“I’ll go with you,” she said, following him to the front door of the Burrow.

 

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It was close to six in the evening when the door to the warehouse opened.  Draco still had hours to work until he would go back to his room at The Leaky Cauldron and sleep for a few hours before returning to his arduous task.  

 

Charlie and Hermione watched the blond work; his aptitude in the intense spell casting was obvious.

 

“The Malfoys are one of a handful of families who know how to perform magical death rites,” Charlie whispered to a gobsmacked Hermione.  

 

“I had no idea.”  Hermione felt as if she was looking at a Draco Malfoy she had never seen before, a total stranger.  Her shock at seeing Malfoy eclipsed the gravity of the huge room filled with the dead.

 

Hearing murmurs from the door, Draco finally finished his spell and turned to find a young couple.  As he got closer, he realized the man was one of the Weasleys and— _Morgana’s tits!_ —the woman was Hermione Granger.  

 

“Was there something I can help you with?” Draco directed to Charlie, deciding that ignoring Granger was the best path.

 

“We were wondering when my brother, Fred Weasley, would be ready for burial,” Charlie said, his words rough as he counted row after row of body bags.

 

“If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll check the ledger.”  

 

With Malfoy out of view, Hermione finally saw the bodies.  “Oh my God,” she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth.  “I…I didn’t realize.”

 

“You don’t have to stay in here,” Charlie said, awkwardly patting her shoulder.  “Why don’t you wait in the hall?”

 

Nodding mutely, Hermione left the room.

 

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They were several floors away from the warehouse, when Charlie spoke.

 

“Fred won’t be ready for another week,” he said, shaking his head.  “My family needs some closure.”

 

“Why will it take so long?”

 

“There are hundreds of dead and only a few undertakers.”

 

Hermione made a split-second decision.  “I’ll meet you at The Burrow later, okay?”  

 

Charlie was confused as he watched the girl head back in the direction they had just come from.

 

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Draco looked up from his crouched position as he was about to open a new bag and determine the spells he would need for interment.  Granger stood in the doorway looking grim but determined.  He walked to her and stopped several feet from the room’s entrance.

 

It felt wrong to speak in a normal voice, so Hermione stepped closer to Malfoy.  “If I helped you, would you take care of Fred, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks more quickly?”

 

Granger was an adept witch, but it had taken him years to understand and perform the wizarding death rites.  But, _bloody hell_ , he needed the help.  It was going to take him weeks to get through all the bodies in this warehouse.  He knew there were more bodies at Hogwarts, bodies that were so _damaged_ , they couldn’t be moved to the Ministry.  McGonagall knew how to perform the death rites, so she was taking care of those bodies. 

 

He sighed.  _Beggars can’t be choosers._  

 

“Come back tomorrow morning at eight.  You need to wear clothing appropriate for a funeral,” he said, noting her tatty jeans and t-shirt.

 

She hadn’t expected him to accept her offer of help.  Beyond their public history of animosity was a private history, too, one neither had the guts to confront.  It was easier to pretend they only knew each other as pure-blood and Mudblood.  

 

“Oh, alright.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

 

He watched her turn and exit the room.  Contrary to what she probably thought, he didn’t hate her, but she made him really uncomfortable, for a myriad of reasons.  And while most of the wizarding world knew the Malfoys had amassed their fortune through their funeral business, it was another things to share everything he knew with a woman who had cut him off when he had needed her most. 

 

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Ron sat on the twin bed and watched Hermione plait her long hair into a French braid.  

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  

 

Hermione looked at her handsome friend and felt an incredible surge of affection.  

 

“I want Fred and Remus and Tonks to get the burial they deserve.  I can handle a few weeks of Malfoy if that’s what it takes.”

 

“Do you know about wizarding death rites?” he asked carefully.  He didn’t know how Muggles prepared their dead, but due to their magic, wizards and witches’ bodies were carefully treated to ensure they didn’t get stuck in the Veil or come back to haunt the living.  

 

“No, not really,” she admitted.

 

“I really hate to say this, but listen to Malfoy.  He’ll know what spells to use for the dead and how to help them move on.  Just be careful, okay?”

 

Hermione sat next to Ron and rested her head on his shoulder.  She didn’t believe in an afterlife and felt that funerals were for the living, not the deceased.  She supposed magical folk felt the same and needed the closure of a funeral after losing a loved one.  

 

“It’ll be fine, Ron,” she said gently and patted his shoulder as she stood and smoothed her simple, black dress.    

 

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Draco knew Hermione was standing just inside the door, but she had yet to make herself known.  Finally, he heard her light footfalls making their way to his position.  This brash witch wasn’t exactly known for her timidity, but Malfoy could admit the warehouse of the dead was a daunting place.  

 

“Good morning,” Hermione said quietly.  There was something sacrilegious about raising her voice in this room.

 

“The Malfoys,” Draco explained, “have performed the death rites for wizards and witches for centuries.  After third year, my father began teaching me everything he knew about preparing our people for their final presentation.  Unfortunately, I’ve had ample opportunities to practice the trade over the last two years.”

 

Hermione blanched at his matter-of-fact words, but kept her composure.

 

“I don’t know what Muggles believe, but a wizard’s magic can linger for a time after death.  Stronger wizards, or those who die a violent death, can continue to be tied to this plane of existence until they get pushed through to their Valhalla, if you will.”

 

Hermione looked at him skeptically, but continued to listen.  Draco felt a surge of annoyance at her obvious dismissal of his explanation.  He’d seen what happened when a body when it was left to rot, the witch’s magic urging her spirit to find a connection to her former life.  

 

“Whatever you believe, Granger, this is the ritual our world observes and it keeps us all safe.  If you can’t respect that, you should go now.”

 

“No, I want to help.  Show me what to do,” she said softly, hoping to pacify him.  

 

A brief memory of his face when she’d been dragged into Malfoy Manor flashed in her mind.  Draco’s eyes had quickly betrayed his shock, before he schooled his features into his regular countenance.  He’d been thin with dark circles under his grey orbs, and unlike his unkempt father, his hair had been neat and his face shaved.  

 

“Are you squeamish?” he asked, walking towards a row of body bags.  She followed him, trying to keep up with his long gait.  

 

“No, not really.  But I haven’t been around corpses before.”

 

He stopped and turned to her.  “We don’t refer to them as corpses,” he snapped.

 

Hermione returned his gaze for a moment before looking away.  _Perhaps it would be better to keep quiet.  Ugh, why do I always feel so stupid when he corrects me?_

 

“The last thing I do before we can return the bodies is fix their hair, clothing, and make them look presentable.  Most families have provided us with clothes for the funeral.”

 

“Do we have to return the bodies, as well?”

 

“No.  The Aurors return the dead.  Some of the families react violently to the death of their loved ones.”

 

“Of course,” Hermione murmured.

 

Draco used his wand to unzip a bag and expose a man in, what Hermione estimated, his early thirties.  She didn’t know the man, but when she looked at the front of the bag, she noticed a small tag with his information.  

 

“Change Mr. Weatherby’s clothing, and note his Charm’s Master medallions, which you will pin to the front of his suit.  Shave him and comb his hair, make sure his fingernails are clean and trimmed.  A few spells will suffice for doing most of the work.  I won’t insult your intelligence.  I’m sure you can figure out this part.”

 

Draco took a moment to study Hermione’s face as she examined the body.  She took even, measured breaths, clearly trying to keep calm.  Her fists were clenched, but even with all her discomfort, her eyes still reflected her inquisitiveness.

 

“I can do this,” she said, more to herself than to him.

 

“Try to get through this row by noon,” he said as he made his way to the back of the warehouse.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

 It was ten minutes until noon and Hermione had worked through half the row of the deceased.  She wasn’t going to lie to herself, this work was really depressing, required grooming charms she’d never cared to learn, and was somewhat repellent to her.  She was ashamed to admit that Malfoy was behaving in a more mature manner than she was.  How had he done this work for so long and now with so, so many dead?

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  

 

“Malfoy, do you stop to eat?”

 

He looked up from the ledger he was writing in.  “If I remember, but there’s so much work to be done…”

 

“Can we leave this place for a few minutes?  I brought a lunch we could share.”

 

When Father had first begun teaching him the trade, he remembered how exhausted he was by the spellcasting.  He’d been younger and less skilled than Granger was now, but he’d had his whole life to watch his father, and sometimes his mother, prepare people for their funerals.  It was possible Albus Dumbledore’s memorial was the first she’d ever attended.  Thinking of Dumbledore made Draco feel sick.  

 

“No, thank you.  But you should eat.  This work can be taxing.”

 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

 

Draco nodded without making eye contact with her and went back to his work.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The hall outside the Department of Magical Games and Sports was empty.  She found a niche with a small bench and took out her sandwich.  Truth be told, Hermione wasn’t feeling hungry, but after her year on the run, she knew how important it was to eat to keep up her energy and concentration.  

 

She ate the ham and cheese sandwich, not really noting the taste or texture as she slowly chewed.  _Gods…Malfoy.  Draco._ He’d first come to her after the winter holidays sixth year.  He’d fallen behind in Transfiguration and had asked to borrow her notes.  Hermione had scoffed and stalked away from him, but surprisingly he had come to her a few days later, and quietly told her _why_ he needed to borrow her notes.  She’d been aghast at what he’d confessed and had made him a copy of her notes, silently pressing them into his hands.  He’d thanked her with a bob of his head and made his way out of the library.

 

Not two days later, he found her in an empty classroom where she sometimes studied.  Draco didn’t say a word, just sat down and began working through an Arithmancy assignment.  This odd pattern continued for a few weeks, with Draco searching her out, sometimes asking her a question or for her notes.  

 

She’d immediately gone to Professor MacGonagall after he’d first spoken to her, and to her utter horror, she was told The Order knew of Draco’s task.  They’d expected him to confide in Professor Snape, but now that Draco had shared his secret with Hermione, she could relay information instead.  She half suspected Malfoy had sought her out so she would give him away.  He was too smart and too Slytherin for anything less.

 

With one last bite, Hermione Vanished the paper her sandwich had been wrapped in and made her way back to the warehouse.  Back to the young man she’d spent so many nights missing, with a sorrow that staggered her, after the way sixth year had ended. 

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

At five, Draco told Hermione to go.  She didn’t object.  Her heart was heavy from the work she’d done.  Draco looked tired to her, but since sixth year, he hadn’t looked like the robust Quidditch player she remembered.  He was taller, but very thin, and his hands shook slightly as he murmured incantations over the bodies.  

 

When Draco was alone, he examined Hermione’s work.  She’d done what he’d asked, but every person she’d worked on looked, well, dead.  He needed to remind her to add a bit of color to the men’s faces and put the women in full make-up, as might be appropriate for a conservative dinner party.  It had taken her the entire day to complete the full row he’d assigned to her in the morning, but he knew she’d be faster in the future.  He used his wand to make the witches and wizards look their best, even going so far as to adjust their facial expressions, making them look at peace.

 

Draco jumped when a cold hand poked at his shoulder.  

 

“What are you doing to my husband?” a hazy specter asked.  The witch appeared to be in her fifties and didn’t seem to notice her whereabouts.

 

“Pleased to meet you, Misses...?” he asked politely.

 

“Mrs. Biolaski, young man,” the ghost said in a way that told Draco she’d raised a child or two.  “And you are?”

 

“I’m Draco.  Do you remember what happened to you?”

 

“Benedict and I were shopping in Diagon Alley when two men stopped us.  I…I don’t know what happened after that,” she admitted, a confused expression on her face.

 

“Mrs. Biolaski, you and your husband are on your way through the Veil and to your beyond.  I’m preparing you for your passage.  Your husband looks very handsome, does he not?”  

 

_Death is a journey.  Best to act the role as a guide with the dead._

 

The thin woman peered at her husband, seeming to tear up at his formal robes and neatly combed hair.

 

“He looks perfect,” she whispered.  “When can we leave?”

 

“We will prepare you tomorrow.  You’ll love the dress robes your daughter brought.  Do you like your hair loose or up?” he asked conversationally.

 

“Up, I think.”

 

“Very good.  You need to rest, to be ready.  _Cras egrediemini nocte quiescere.”_

 

_Rest tonight for tomorrow you go._

 

Mrs. Biolaski nodded.  “Okay, dear.  I am rather tired, now that you mention it.  Take good care of my Benedict.”

 

“I will.  Good night.”

 

The ghost floated back to her body and lay down, merging with her earthly form.  Draco would have to move her up in the ledger.  He didn’t want her spirit getting lost and missing her opportunity to find peace in the ever after.

 

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Though the bedding at The Leaky Cauldron was itchy and the room was cool and clammy, Draco was relieved to get into bed.  He actually never thought he’d have an opportunity to be near Hermione Granger again.  She behaved as though they didn’t know each other aside from their well-known mutual dislike, but she was _something_ to him.

 

Finally he dropped off, exhaustion pulling him into slumber.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“Are you nervous?”_

 

_His nose nuzzled her hair, right near her ear.  Her lithe body fairly thrummed with nerves._

 

_“I’ve…no one has touched me before,” she whispered._

 

_He already knew that.  It was obvious, from the first time he’d caressed her hand and she’d startled as if he had burned her, that she wasn’t in the least experienced.  Lips feathered over her smooth jaw and cheek.  She turned her head and he caught her lips.  Gods, she tasted like cherries and black tea._

 

_His hands gently cradled the back of her head, bringing her closer to him.  She responded by fingering the bit of skin at his collar, delicately feeling his sensitive neck.  When Hermione moaned, he took the opportunity to stroke his tongue against hers.  She kissed with tentativeness at first, but as she got comfortable with the sensation of Draco’s mouth on hers, she began to return his passion.  It was heady, the way she responded to him._

 

_Unbuttoning her shirt, he revealed her simple, cotton bra.  Ever so carefully, he cupped her breasts, letting her get used to his hands on her body.  When he grazed her tight, little nipples with his thumbs, she edged closer to him, tightening her hold on his neck.  Good fucking Salazar!  Fondling her tits and having her sweet tongue in his mouth was giving him the worst erection._

 

_He let one hand drift between her thighs, gingerly pushing a finger to the hot, damp fabric of her knickers.  She broke the kiss, panting with lust.  Draco lightly traced her quim through the material as she caught her breath._

 

_“We should stop.”_

 

_He nodded his acceptance and bussed her forehead.  “Okay, little lioness. You should get back to the tower.”_

 

_She was wobbly as she stood and fixed her uniform._

 

_“Goodnight,” she said shyly._

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::    

 

He woke when the moon had ceded the sky to the sun.  His room was dim, but he knew it was morning.  

 

_Fuck._   He was haunted by the memories of Hermione showing him her trust and sharing her body with him.  His recollection of their first kiss was the worst, when she was still so bloody innocent.  Since he’d fled Hogwarts with Severus, he’d dreamed of their time together when he wanted a reminder of those short months when they’d gotten to know each other.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Wake up, Hermione!”  Ginny shook her friend, who was sobbing into her pillow.  

 

Hermione curled in on herself as Ginny gently rubbed her shoulder and whispered soothing words.  

 

“I’m sorry, Gin,” the older girl said into the pillow with a shudder.

 

“Don’t apologize.  Do you want some Dreamless Sleep?”

 

“No, I think I’ll get up.”  Hermione gave Ginny a shaky smile and hugged her friend.  The redhead nodded and got into her bed, attempting to get another hour of sleep.

 

Thankfully, at this early hour, the Burrow was still quiet and Hermione was able to get into the bathroom for a shower.  As she stood under the hot water, she let the adrenaline run through her system.  A few shuddered sobs made their way out of her body before she began to calm.  

 

She’d thought she had dealt with the previous day without depleting her emotional reserves, but her subconscious mind must have had other ideas.  The nightmare that had finally woken her was not entirely clear, but it involved her parents being brought into the warehouse, their bodies mangled.  The idea of them dying without Hermione making amends was unbearable.  

 

Her thoughts drifted to Draco and his horrible task.  He did his work with such dignity and was incredibly knowledgeable for a man of just eighteen.  She figured the Malfoys must have bargained for their son, as both Lucius and Narcissa were in Azkaban until their trials.  If this was the case, they had finally done the right thing for Draco.  She wasn’t sure if she was willing to befriend Draco Malfoy again, but at least he was doing something positive and necessary for their world.  It was a step in the right direction.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Shoring up her house courage, she stepped into the warehouse.  It was very early, not even six a.m.  The nightmare she’d had before waking had left her exhausted.  How would she be able to spend a whole day fixing up these… _people_ …and in such close quarters to Malfoy?  It was her own fault since she’d offered to help him.

 

As she edged into the room and torches magically lit the dark space, she wondered why Malfoy hadn’t objected to her assistance?  The delicate truce they’d made over the second part of sixth year had fallen apart the night before Draco had opened the school to the bloody Death Eaters.  She knew he had been trying to keep her out of harm’s way, but his “help” was, _Jesus Christ_ , so fucking insulting and demeaning.  

 

Finding where she’d left off the day before, she opened a bag to find a young woman.  Malfoy had worked on this woman for over an hour, casting spells to repair her broken body and mutilated skin.  Now she looked whole and lovely, as if she had fallen asleep, never to wake.  The information on her bag said she would be remitted to her parents.  It was a small mercy that she would go back to them looking like the girl they had known.  

 

As Hermione exposed the girl to cast glamours on the body, a transparent image of the young woman sat up.

 

“Who are you?” the confused ghost asked. 

 

She’d seen ghosts before, but this was different.  The girl’s body was _right there_ , lying dead on the ground.  _Oh, Merlin._

 

“Well?   A young, blond Healer was working on me last night.  Are you a mediwitch?  I’d like to speak to the Healer,” the young woman demanded.

 

“I’m Hermione Granger.  Do you know what happened?”

 

“I work at The Ministry, in the Office of Transportation.  My boss sent me to check on an illegally opened Floo at an abandoned home in Essex.  Must have fallen, because I can’t remember what happened after that,” she trailed off.

 

“I have some bad news for you.  You have, um, passed on.”  She gave the shocked ghost a sympathetic nod.

 

“What!?  I can’t be dead!  Where’s my husband?  And my little Seamus?” she wailed.  “Oh Merlin, my baby!  Was he killed, too?”

 

“I…I don’t know, miss.  Let me find the ledger and we’ll check, okay?”

 

The ghost’s cries filled the cavernous room, bouncing off the walls.  Her voice wasn’t quite human anymore and frankly, sounded like something out of a horror movie.  _Bloody hell_ , where was that stupid ledger Malfoy was always checking?  It was so early, it was unlikely Malfoy would be here soon.  

 

“Help me find my family.  Take me to my home, you Dark witch!” the angry specter pleaded as she followed Hermione around the room, exhaling her icy breath on Hermione’s neck.

 

When Hermione turned to speak to the witch, the ghost screamed in her face and then she felt cold fists attacking her.  Hermione fell to the ground, curling into a ball to protect herself from the frigid assault.  She fished her wand out of a hidden pocket.

 

“ _Protego_!” 

 

An invisible bubble encased Hermione as the furious ghost continued her onslaught.  Why, _oh why_ , had she been so skeptical when Draco had explained the importance of the death rites?  The bubble of protection grew thin as the volatile woman continuously hit her with an unholy anger.  She concentrated on keeping up the strength of the spell as she stood, her back against a wall.  _Gods, what was I thinking to come here?_

 

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Draco ate an apple as he made his way to the Ministry.  He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after that reoccurring dream about Hermione.  Those dreams had been the best thing about his days on too many occasions over the past year.  Thank Merlin his Occulmency skills were quite good or someone would have used that information against him.

 

The Ministry halls were quiet and as he turned the corner to the warehouse, a wave of magic hit him.  _Oh, fuck.  No, no, no!_

 

He took off at a run, pulling out his Hawthorn wand.  Throwing open the door, he found Hermione with a very worn protection bubble as a furious phantom screamed profane epithets at her.  

 

Holding his wand in the air, Draco shouted, “ _Tuo te memini!  Sin autem resistis me ad Veil evanescent_!” 

 

_I recall you to your body!  If you resist me, I shall Vanish you to the Veil!_

 

All of a sudden, the ghost stilled.  Hermione sagged, but held her protection spell as Draco dealt with the ghost.

 

The ghost looked torn, but made her way back to her body, her misty form dissolving into air.  Draco ran to Hermione as she finally let her spell end.  He sank to his knees, checking her body for damage.  She was conscious, but shaken.

 

“What the fuck were you doing here without me?” he growled, shaking her shoulders.

 

At that admonishment, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears.  Gathering her into his arms, he sat on the floor and pulled her into his lap, rocking her slight form back and forth.

 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you,” she cried.  “I thought the death rites were more pure-blood rubbish.  Even Ron told me to careful!”  That last statement seemed to make her cry even harder.

 

“You put yourself in danger, Hermione.  I know you don’t trust me, but you have to be careful with the dead.”

 

“Okay,” she whispered, letting her head rest against his shoulder.  He rubbed her back, amazed that she was voluntarily touching him.  Back in sixth year, she seemed to always be the one offering him comfort.  They stayed in each other’s arms for a few minutes, while she tried to remain calm.

 

“Would you have really Vanished the woman’s body?” Hermione asked quietly.  Gods, now she was worried about offending _them_.  

 

“I would have.  If she had continued her attack, she would have tried to take over your body when you became too tired to fight her off.”

 

“They can do that?”

 

“They can.  It’s called a possession.”

 

“I thought that was Muggle religious superstition.”

 

“I don’t know how it works with Muggles, but witches and wizards who die violently sometimes try to avenge themselves by taking over a body and finding the people who killed them.  It’s unusual, but with so many who died a horrible death, well, it seems we’ll have to do a better job of protecting ourselves.” 

 

“The woman was upset because I didn’t know what had happened to her husband or her baby.  Do you know?”

 

“Listen to me and take what I’m saying to heart.  You are going to see and hear bloody awful things about the end of these witches and wizards’ lives, and you can’t help them with that.  _You_ didn’t cause their deaths.  But you can help guide them into their afterlife.”  He looked at her expectantly and she nodded tightly.  “The woman who attacked you was raped and killed by Death Eaters.  They went to her home and set it on fire and her husband and child were killed in the blaze.  Her name was Velma Goldsmith and her husband, John, was a Muggle.”

 

Thank the Gods his failures caused him to be ignored by most Death Eaters the last six months.  He’d gotten away with cleaning up kills and secretly performing death rites.  

 

A sob bubbled from Hermione’s throat.  She hid her face in Draco’s neck while he gently shushed her.  It was the most human contact he’d had since they’d parted ways.  His mother had patted his shoulder in commiseration, as had his father, but otherwise he was an uninhabited desert island.

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.  I understand.”

 

She cried for the tragedy of Velma Goldsmith’s life, but she cried for herself, too, and for Draco.  She’d intended to avoid the blond man for the rest of her life, ignoring the connection they’d established months ago.  Hermione had known what Draco was planning since he’d confessed his task to her, but she’d honestly thought he would change his plans and switch sides.  It had been the worst deceit she could have imagined when he went through with his plans and let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.  She knew he cared for her in the way he knew how, but it hadn’t been enough for her then and she doubted it would be enough for her now.  

 

Sobered by her memories of the year before, she untangled her body from his and stood on shaky legs.  He stood, too, watching her for signs of physical distress.  It had been a couple of years since he’d been attacked by a phantom, but he remembered how exhausted he’d been after the episode.

 

“No, I can do this.  I’ll do better.”

 

He nodded.  “Fine.  Go eat something to get your energy up and then you can resume your work.”

 

She didn’t meet his eyes before turning and walking out of the warehouse.

 

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Instead of having her work on making the dead presentable, Draco had Hermione work alongside him for the remainder of the day.  He knew she was shaken, but he also wanted her to learn the spells he used to repair the broken bodies of some of the dead.  The spells weren’t merely topical, but actually changed the bodies into the form they’d inhabit in the other plane.  It was tedious work, but Hermione was actually very good at it, with her eye for detail and her unwavering concentration.  They worked in companionable quiet, with him voicing directions or her asking questions infrequently.  

 

At five, he told her to leave for the day.  

 

“How long do you stay?” 

 

“Until ten, usually.”

 

He could see her thinking, as she bit her lip in contemplation.  “I’ll stay, too, then.”

 

“No, Granger.  You’ll make yourself ill if you don’t take care of yourself.  After this morning, I should have sent you home.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“What about me?  I’ve been doing this for years, so I’m used to it.”

 

“You don’t stop to eat, you don’t take any breaks.  You may be used to it, but I’d reckon you haven’t done this quantity of people before now.”

 

“Right, as usual,” he said without much fight.  “I’ll eat dinner when I get home, alright?”

 

“Come eat dinner with me.  We can come back and work until eleven, if you want.”

 

“I don’t know, Granger.”

 

“I’m not going to take you to The Burrow, for Godric’s sake, Malfoy!  We can even Apparate into Muggle London, if you’re worried about being seen with me.”

 

The look he gave her was surprisingly chilly.  “I’m not worried about being seen with you, but you should be concerned about what _I_ might do to _your_ reputation.”

 

“My reputation doesn’t matter.  I plan on leaving England when I’m done helping you.”

 

_What?  Why?_

 

“Eat or don’t eat.  I suppose it’s your choice.  Good night.”  She grabbed her bag and began to walk away.

 

“I could use a break,” he said, catching up to her.  “Wherever you want to go is fine with me.”

 

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The bar she took them to was dark, smoky, and moderately noisy, but the food was excellent.  She’d been there with her parents when they’d occasionally made their way into London for a show or to shop.

 

Hermione didn’t have much money, so they shared a hamburger and chips.  Luckily the portions were generous and the work they’d done all day didn’t encourage a huge appetite.  

 

“Where are you going, when you’re done with all this?” he asked.  The question had been plaguing him the entire meal.

 

“To Australia.”  She offered him the remainder of her chips, which he took from her.

 

“What’s in Australia?”

 

She sighed.  “My parents.”

 

_Oh.  Oh, fuck._   The Death Eaters had looked for her parents, but had been unable to find them.  They hadn’t even been able to find their house.  Draco had guessed Hermione had made their house Unplottable.  

 

“We should get back,” he suggested.  

 

They made their way to the street.

 

“Are you still at the Manor?” 

 

“No.  It’s considered the scene of many crimes, so the Ministry won’t relinquish it back to me until they’ve gone over the property with a fine-tooth comb.  Anything I considered important, I had in my school trunk, so I don’t much care.”

 

“Where are you staying then?”

 

“The Leaky.”

 

“What about you?” he asked.

 

“I’ve been at the Weasley’s, but I think I may open up my parents’ house, to get it ready for them.”

 

“Is that a good idea?  Some sympathizers are still out there.”

 

She shrugged, ignoring his question.  _Damn it_ , he was allowed to worry about her if he wanted!

 

They finally found an alley and Apparated back to the Ministry.

 

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“When will Fred, Tonks, and Remus be ready?” 

 

Draco looked at the ledger he was holding.  “I’ll work on them tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly.  

 

“Come on, Granger.  It’s almost midnight.  Even I’m fading here.”

 

Draco opened the door to the warehouse and held it open for her so they could leave for a few hours of desperately needed sleep.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::    

        

When Hermione got back to The Burrow, Harry was outside.  He took a long drag of a cigarette before he offered it to Hermione.  She sat next to him and took a puff before handing it back to him.

 

“How was it?” he asked.

 

“Bloody depressing.  A ghost attacked me, but Malfoy knew how to get it to return to its body.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “And Malfoy?”

 

“Apparently he’s been training as an undertaker for years.  He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

 

She grabbed her own cigarette from the pack next to him and lit it with the Muggle lighter.  

 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Harry said pointedly.  

 

He’d been watching Malfoy all of sixth year and though he knew Hermione was conveying intelligence Malfoy told her, he’d figured out she and Malfoy were involved in some kind of entanglement.  Harry hadn’t confronted her until he found an unsent letter from her to Malfoy in her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.  He’d only read the first sentence, but it told him all he needed to know about the depth of their connection.

 

She blew a perfect series of smoke rings.  “He made his choice and I made mine.  I don’t think I could trust him to be a permanent part of my life.”

 

“You know, he didn’t really have a choice, Hermione.  Voldemort would have killed his parents if he hadn’t let the Death Eaters into the school.”

 

“Why are you defending him?” she asked angrily.

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair.  “ _He_ didn’t torture you.  And it was his summons that got Dobby into Malfoy Manor.”

 

“He stalled for all of two minutes before giving me up and he watched as his aunt tortured the piss out of me,” she hissed.

 

“I’m not defending him, Hermione, but his situation isn’t as black and white as you’re making it out to be.”

 

“If you were me, what would you do?” 

 

_Merlin’s beard_ , she knew smoking was a filthy habit, but there was something so calming about inhaling the fragrant tobacco smoke.  And when she’d been freezing, hungry, and unendingly anxious, nothing had calmed her like a fag.

 

“I wouldn’t continue my personal torture by punishing someone I loved.”

 

She stubbed out the burning cherry and sighed.  “I’ll think about what you’ve said,” she conceded.

 

He didn’t tell Hermione that when he’d “seen” through Voldemort’s eyes, he’d witnessed the horror on Malfoy’s face and the pure disgust the young man had for the serpent-faced wizard.  Tom Riddle had delighted in forcing Draco Malfoy to clean up the remains of the Death Eater revels using a rag and a bucket of water.  

 

“Good night,” Harry said, pressing a kiss into Hermione’s frizzy hair.

 

“Night, Harry,” she murmured as she looked at the stars in the endless black sky.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::    

 

_“Does it hurt?”_

 

_Draco let her examine his Dark Mark._

 

_“Yes.  The Dark Lord is constantly calling his followers and it burns every time he summons us.”_

 

_Her little fingers traced the blackened skull and snake.  Getting the Dark Mark had been the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, and the skin around the Morsmordre was still tender all these months later._

 

_“What do you do to distract yourself from the discomfort?” she asked, her eyes sincere and compassionate._

 

_“Nothing, really.  I try to ignore it.  Being with you seems to help.”_

 

_She looked up at him and for the first time initiated a kiss.  He let her lead the way as she leaned over him, her soft lips massaging his.  After a few moments, she placed a knee over his legs and straddled his lap, her knee-length skirt covering where they were connected.  Her hands went to the back of his neck as she slipped her tongue against his.  His hands, previously held behind him, went to her waist.  Her warm center was directly over his groin and her every little move made his cock twitch.  But he wanted her to be relaxed, so he prevented himself from bucking against her._

 

_Hermione began kissing and sucking on his neck.  Nipping at his ear, she whispered, “Are you distracted?”_

 

_He chuckled and finally let himself untuck her shirt so he could feel the smooth skin of her torso._

 

_“Does this hurt?” she asked, rocking slightly over his hardness.  Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright._

 

_He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, kissing her shoulder.  “It feels amazing.”_

 

_She pulled off her shirt and let him unhook her bra.  It slid off her arms and joined her discarded shirt next to them.  His mouth traveled to her rosy nipple and sucked it into his mouth._

 

_“Oh my God,” she breathed as she threw her head back to push her modest breast against his filthy tongue.  Her undulations became more fervent when he began playing with her other nipple, lightly pinching the delicate bud between his thumb and pointer finger._

 

_She ground her knickers-covered pussy over him as he laved at her nipples.  He could tell she was close, but girls’ bodies were more complicated than blokes’ bodies.  Draco knew he could come right this second if he didn’t control himself, but she needed a bit more._

 

_“Can I touch you?” he asked, pressing his hand lightly to the area where their bodies were joined._

 

_She took a deep breath and nodded, looking slightly embarrassed._

 

_“I want you to come for me,” he said, snaking a hand under her skirt.  Damn.  Her knickers were soaked._

 

_“Keep moving, okay?”_

 

_Hermione began to rock as Draco gently rubbed her clit over the fabric of her underthings.  He wanted to touch skin against skin, but this was so much more than she’d allowed before.  And it felt bloody good to have her body against his.  He felt the little bud stiffen under his fingers as he stroked her and her undulations became faster and firmer.  She grabbed his face and kissed him, her tongue as passionate as her furious hips.  Knowing she was at the tipping point, Draco increased the pressure on her nub and surged against her._

 

_“Ohhh! Oh yes, Draco, yes,” she moaned and her hands bit into his shoulders and her thighs tightened around him._

 

_He felt her knickers get soaked through with her release.  Letting go, he came, his warm emission filling the inside of his trousers.  Gods, what a mess, but it was absolutely worth it.  His arms held her to him as they came down from their high.  She was, at least in these moments, so vulnerable and he wanted to protect her._

 

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 He woke to his hand on his cock and sticky, warm cum all over his hand, and cock, and stomach.  After having Hermione on his lap the day before, it was no shock that he’d dreamed of her.  

 

_She’s not yours, you piece of rubbish.  She’ll never forgive you for turning on her_ , his mind sneered at him.  

 

 

 

 

_I need a fucking drink._

  

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It had been sobering to work on Remus Lupin’s ragged body.  Despite his younger self, Draco had thought the wizard had been a great teacher and he had a natural sweetness that was absolutely foreign to the young Slytherin.  He hoped the werewolf would find peace in his afterlife, as his life in this world had been difficult.

 

But working on his cousin, Nymphadora, had been downright wrenching.  The witch looked like a brunette version of his mother, with her striking bone structure and wide lips.  If his mother’s sister hadn’t been burned off the Black family tapestry, Draco would have grown up knowing Nymphadora.  The Auror’s body, with her powerful Metamorphmagus magic, had mended itself quickly as Draco cast spells on her.  

 

His cousin’s wispy form began to materialize as he finished working on her.

 

“Hello, cousin.”

 

“Greetings, Nymphadora.  Are you ready to begin your journey?”

 

“Not yet.  Remus and I have a baby, Teddy, named after my dad.  Mum’ll take good care of him, but I want to be able to watch over him after I move on.  Will you perform the _Imaginem Imbutus Spiritus_ spell on my death image?”

 

It appeared the ghost of Nymphadora Tonks was chewing gum as she looked at Draco expectantly.  

 

“Would you and Professor Lupin like to be in the picture together?”

 

For those wizards and witches who didn’t have the substantial amount needed to hire a magical artist to create a picture of their loved ones, a _momento mori_ photograph could be taken and the subject’s spirit could be imbued in the photo.  It wasn’t as grand as a painting, but it worked much the same way. 

 

She shook her head sadly.  “Remus has already moved on.  Will he be waiting when I get to my destination?”

 

Draco nodded.  

 

“He’ll be there,” he said softly.

 

Tonks waved her hand dismissively to him.  “Well, get to it, Little Malfoy!  I’ve got somewhere to be.”  

 

A moment after his cousin dispersed her spectral form, Hermione came into the warehouse.

 

“Malfoy,” she said in greeting.

 

She looked tired, he thought.  He guessed he looked fairly shitty, too, but he had all these memories of her from their sixth year and she had been like a juicy, ripe peach, all creamy skin, dewy, brown eyes, and those surprisingly soft curls.  She was still beautiful to him, but she was more angular now, her cheekbones cutting her face and her eyes dark and somber in her pale face.  

 

“Do you think you could go back to my room at the Leaky and get my camera?” It wasn’t like he could leave her alone in the warehouse, so this was probably the best option.  They had a boatload of bloody work to do today.

 

“Why?” she asked with confusion.

 

“Do you think I could explain when you return?  Time is of the essence,” he urged her.

 

“Hand me your key, then,” she said, holding out her hand.  He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

 

“Room 7.  It’s in my trunk.”

 

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She’d always thought, even with her egalitarian bent, that the rooms at the Leaky were rather shabby and plain.  Everyone in magical Britain stayed at the Leaky Cauldron’s lodgings and yet the rooms looked like the place was barely making ends meet.  Sometimes the wizarding world was such a mystery to her.  

 

Hermione located Draco’s trunk.  His camera was between layers of clothes, letters, and books.  A small, engraved box sat at the bottom of the trunk.  It was so beautiful, with its inlaid pearl design and she couldn’t help but pick it up.  The wooden prism unlatched itself when she touched the latch.

 

_I really shouldn’t go through his things.  He trusts me and I’m taking advantage._

 

Despite knowing she shouldn’t snoop, Hermione couldn’t help but look in the box.  Inside was a photo of _her_ , taken fourth year at the Yule Ball.  Viktor had been cropped out of the picture.  She looked so young and so happy in her fancy dress, with everyone admiring her changed looks and her famous date.  The picture had clearly been handled endlessly, as the edges had begun to curl a bit and the paper was somewhat wrinkled.  A short note she had penned to him, telling him to meet her at the Room of Requirement was in the box, as was a button she recognized as one from a sweater she used to wear all the time.  

 

The last item was one she had only seen once.  It was a protection amulet and he had offered it to her that bitter night when he had begged her to go into hiding with her parents.  

 

Draco had been so sure The Dark would obliterate her side.  He’d had absolutely no faith that good would triumph over evil, his experience with Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and his family making him think it was impossible to fight that kind of hatred and power.  She’d told him the Order would take him in, would even take in his bigoted parents, but he’d refused.  He’d said _when_ Voldemort won, he’d be able to offer her protection.  His lack of faith in what was right, _in her_ , had absolutely broken her heart.  How could she trust him, knowing he would do the wrong thing when he’d had the opportunity to do what was honorable?

 

She put the box back and patted his things into place, trying to make it look like she hadn’t rifled through his belongings.  _Merlin and Morgana._ She wiped her tear-stained cheeks as she quickly made her way back to the Ministry.

 

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“Do you know how wizarding paintings are created?”

 

Hermione shook her head.  After finding the memory box in Draco’s trunk, she didn’t really want to talk to him.  

 

“The deceased’s wand is used to enchant a set of paints.  When the painting is complete, the wizard or witch’s spirit is imbued in the image.  It’s fairly expensive to buy the specialized paints and the process is time consuming for the artist.  When the dead’s wand isn’t available or has been lost, a _memento mori_ photo can be taken and the undertaker can perform a spell to preserve the essence of the dead in their photo, _if_ the person has yet to move onto the next plane.  _Memento mori_ photos are no longer popular, since most families find them morbid, but every so often we’ll get a request for one.”

 

Draco waited for her to ask him a question or offer some opinion, but Hermione continued to gently cast spells on an old witch.  He realized she was ignoring him.  

 

_Fine_ , he thought dejectedly.  

      

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They worked until late that night with few words spoken between them.  There was more Draco could teach her, but he was in no mood to offer her his wisdom.  She had been almost friendly with him the previous night, but not today.  Today she had been…detached.  

 

As she collected her things to leave, Draco cleared his throat.  

 

“Will you ask the Weasleys if they have any special requests for their son’s preparation?”

 

“I’ll ask,” she murmured.

 

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When he got back to the Leaky, he had Tom sell him a bottle of Firewhisky so he could drink in his room.  He wanted to sit in bed, drink his Ogden’s, and pass out.  A dreamless night would be much appreciated after the crap day he’d had with the subject of his brain’s nightly musings.

 

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_That prick!  Where is he?_

 

Hermione had been standing at the warehouse doors for over an hour.  Her anger escalated every minute she waited.

 

_Enough’s enough._

 

She found a Floo and made her way to Draco’s hotel room, banging loudly on the door.

 

“Malfoy!” she yelled.  His door was unlocked and she threw it open to find a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky on the table next to the bed.  Making her way to the passed out blond, she rudely shoved his shoulder.

 

“Get up!  I’ve been waiting for ages for you to show up, you lazy arse!”

 

The oblivion and quiet of the previous night had been too good to be true.  Hermione’s angry, shrill voice was like an Acromantula’s hiss, a precursor to something ever worse.  But he found he preferred her anger to her distance.

 

She continued to poke his shoulder and chest, even when she realized he was awake.  He grabbed her arm and yanked her into the bed, taking advantage of her surprise.   

 

“Stop,” he growled.  “You’re being a bitch.”

 

His arms held her firmly, even a touch too tightly, as they glared at each other.  She thought he smelled like spicy whisky, the warm, musky smell of sleep, and his shampoo, which had always reminded her of the sea.  

 

She lowered her eyes in submission and nodded.  “Just…get up, Malfoy.  We need to keep working.”

 

He let her go, watching her warily.  She went to the desk and fished something out of her little beaded bag.  It was a box of those Muggle cigarettes Blaise, Theo, and Pansy had loved to sneak out and smoke at night.  He’d have one with them on occasion.  She took a lighter and lit the stick, taking a deep drag of the burning tobacco.

 

He realized then how little he knew this woman.  What had happened to her over the last year?

 

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she said, avoiding him by looking at the smoke floating to the ceiling.

 

“No, I’ll be out of the shower in a minute.  You can wait here.”  He climbed out of the bed, his naked body displaying a fairly impressive morning erection.

 

When he closed the door to the loo, Hermione let out a groan.  

 

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He stood under a cool stream of water and tried to will his wood to go away.  Seeing her sucking a fag between her defiant lips after having her body pressed against him in the bed… _bloody buggering fuck_ , this train of thought was making the situation even worse. 

 

The little bathroom door creaked open and he heard her sit on the toilet next to the shower.  He didn’t say anything and neither did she.  It was disconcerting to have her on the other side of the flimsy shower curtain, but he scrubbed his hair and lathered his body.  The water was now too cold and he quickly rinsed off and turned off the stream.  

 

Hermione jumped up and grabbed his towel, passing it to him while he waited in the shower.

 

“Can you stay in there for a moment?” she asked hesitantly. 

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

She was quiet as she tried to think of how to say what she wanted to say.  

 

“Did you think of me?  After you left?” she ended up asking.  What she had meant to tell him was how angry she still was with him, how he had betrayed her.

 

“Every day,” he murmured.  

 

“Do you regret what happened between us?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why did you come to me instead of one of the professors?”

 

His thin body was starting to shiver in the cool, moist air of the bathroom.  

 

“I’m freezing my arse off, Granger.  Let me get some clothes on and take some hangover potion and we can talk, alright?”

 

“Oh, sorry!  I’ll wait out in the hall.”  

 

“Why?  You’ve seen it before,” he said as he stepped out of the shower, a towel slung over his hips.  

 

She watched him make his way into the small hotel room and find his clothing.  And though she wanted to watch him dress, she looked around the small bathroom.  He probably had some clothing on now, she reasoned, as she went into the main room and sat at the edge of the bed.

 

He ignored her as he buttoned his dove grey shirt and efficiently knotted an icy blue silk tie.  Opening his trunk, he pulled out a small bag that clinked with the sound of glass and found a tiny vial.  He uncorked it and swallowed the bitter potion.  The dull ache in his head eased, as did the feeling of vertigo.  The clenching of his stomach did not abate, unfortunately, but he guessed that had more to do with the witch sitting on his bed than the idiotic amount of Firewhisky he’d drunk the previous night.

 

She relit the cigarette, as he got ready for another long day.  After quickly combing his hair into place, he sat beside her on the bed and took the cigarette out of her hand, inhaling a long drag.  

 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he said.

 

She nodded and tried to take the cigarette back, but he held onto it.  “I know, Malfoy, but it seems to help with my anxiety.”

 

He hummed his agreement at her statement and took another puff.

 

“I don’t know why I went to you.  The other Slytherins were told to keep an eye on me that year, so any friendships I’d had with them ended.  I didn’t trust anyone, but I thought you might talk to me if you understood my predicament.  I don’t think I could have gotten through that year without you.”  

 

Handing her back the cigarette, he looked into her face and saw her warring emotions in the glassiness of her eyes and the tight line of her lips.  She took a quick pull and exhaled.

 

“Did you lose your fortune?” she asked, looking around the crappy room.

 

Not expecting that question, he laughed.  “Mostly.  My parents funded a great deal of the Dark Lord’s plan and gave him access to the family vaults.  Then the Ministry seized the Malfoy vaults after Potter defeated _him_.  Since my undertaking is considered valuable, I was allowed to keep my own vault, which is paltry compared to the one I’d always thought I’d inherit.”

 

“Why aren’t your parents helping with the undertaking effort?”

 

“I was arrested after the battle, but my parents agreed to give them sensitive information in exchange for my freedom provided I perform the death rites for the Ministry.”

 

She finally looked at him, taking in his somber face.  “I’m glad they did that for you.”

 

He shrugged.  “I deserve to be in there with them.”

 

No matter how betrayed and angry she had been at Draco, she didn’t think he deserved the same fate as the rest of the Death Eaters.  After the time she’d spent with him performing the death rites after the Final Battle, she thought he’d been punished enough.  She thought about what Harry had said, about the unbearable situation Draco had found himself in.  He had lost everything, too, and yet she had wanted to withhold her forgiveness and the comfort she’d get from letting herself accept him again.

 

With a wandless spell, she snuffed out her cigarette and Vanished it.  Standing and smoothing her knee length navy blue dress, she held out a hand to the man who appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

“Come on, Malfoy,” she said quietly.  His eyes widened and he tentatively accepted her hand, a lifeboat in the endless, black sea that had become his life.

 

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“George made arrangements to have Fred’s picture painted.  I have the paints.”

 

Draco looked up from his task and nodded.  “Lay the paints out near his body, please.”

 

Hermione gently placed the glass bottles of paint in a myriad of colors at Fred’s feet.  When she put down the last bottle, a cold chill touched her shoulder.

 

“What are you doing, Hermione?” a confused Fred asked her.

 

“Fred,” she whispered with a choked sob.  “Can you give me a second?”

 

The normally silly young man had a perplexed, sad expression, but he nodded as she jogged over to Malfoy.

 

“Will you talk to him?” she asked.  He looked over to see Fred’s image hovering over his body.

 

“Greetings, Fred Weasley,” Draco said in the formal way he spoke to the dead.  “Hermione and I are preparing you for your journey.  Your brother is having a portrait of you done and we need to enchant the paints for the artist.”

 

“I need to speak to George.  There’s no need to create a painting.  I can’t go without him.”

 

Every so often, a ghost understood he was about to leave this plane of existence and didn’t want to.  As an undertaker, Draco couldn’t force the soul’s compliance, but he would do everything he could to get Fred to move on.  The ghost didn’t yet understand how he would become a peripheral part of life for his loved ones, no matter how they tried to include him in day-to-day life.  For the ghost, it was a sad thing to watch as your family grew old and died, while the specter was perpetually in the emotional place they were when they left the living.  

 

“Your brother wishes you to make your way to your afterlife.  He will join you in time, Fred.”

 

For the first time, Fred seemed to realize Hermione and Draco, known enemies, were working together.  

 

“Hermione…did we lose?  Why are you here with the Ferret?”

 

She looked at Draco and he gave her a small nod to talk to the young man who had accepted her like a sister during his lifetime.

 

“No, Fred, we won.  Your family is safe.  I’m helping Draco prepare people for their journey,” she said, echoing Draco’s language to the deceased.  

 

The twins were Gryffindors through and through, but it didn’t mean they weren’t shrewd.  Fred looked at the two and comprehension dawned on him.

 

“You two, eh?  Was that why you were moping about all summer last year?”

 

Draco looked at Hermione with a tender expression, which Fred noticed.  Fred knew he’d never get to fall in love or enjoy the sweet comfort of a willing woman, at least not in the way he’d known it before.  It made him sad and if these two people had the opportunity, he felt it was his responsibility to tell them so.

 

“She’s pretty special, our Hermione is,” Fred said to Draco.

 

“She is,” Draco said quietly.

 

A sense of hope filled her with Draco’s admission.  It was a start.

 

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In a very unusual decision, Draco had Hermione bring George to the warehouse to talk to his brother one last time before he made his way to his afterlife.  His reason was practical, as well, since Draco couldn’t enchant the paints if the spirit wasn’t willing to cooperate, which Fred wasn’t until George pleaded with him to move on.  

 

The blonde and brunette sat in the hall to give the twins a few moments of privacy.  

 

“What you told Fred, was it true?”

 

Draco looked at her eyes, so vulnerable and so beautiful, and reached a hand to her face to push a curl behind her ear.

 

“Yes,” he said, his hand lingering.  “Maybe it’s time for us to start over.”

 

She wasn’t ready to admit her feelings for him, so instead she took his hand and threaded their fingers together.  

 

“Yeah,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.  “We could try again.”

 

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The door from the warehouse opened and a teary-eyed, but smiling, George came out.  He nodded at Draco and then pulled him into a hug.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured.  “I never thought I’d see him again.  He’s ready to move on now.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Draco replied with an awkward pat to George’s back.  “I’ll have Hermione bring the paints to you after I enchant them.”

 

The two men pulled apart and George looked at the couple.  “He gave me a message for the two of you.  Even though you were on different sides during the war, your relationship will mend each other and show our world what forgiveness and acceptance really means.”

 

_Could our relationship truly mean something to people outside of us?_   Hermione wondered.  

 

George mussed Hermione’s hair and gave her a brotherly smile as he walked away from the warehouse.

 

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That evening as Draco ate a small meal in his room at The Leaky Cauldron, a tiny owl delivered a message from George Weasley.

 

_Malfoy,_

 

_We’re going to bury Fred observing the old ways.  Tomorrow at dawn at our family’s plot in Ottery St. Catchpole.  Hermione will Apparate you to the exact spot.  Mum would like you to make sure everything is done correctly, if you would be so kind as to help us with protocol._

 

_G.W._

 

 

Only the old pure-blood families asked the Malfoys to help with the actual burials.  He supposed the Weasleys _were_ a pure-blood family, so it was understandable they’d want to bury their son with the old rituals.  It was not only his duty, but what he needed to do to absolve himself of the guilt he carried, to help the living have some closure with the death of their loved ones.

 

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The spring morning was cool and damp, but the sun making its way into the Eastern sky promised a beautiful day.  

 

Arthur handed out the family’s recitation for safe passage into the beyond from the Weasley family grimoire.  It was written in Middle English and it appeared to Draco that the Weasley children had been coached in how to read the archaic version of their language.  The Malfoy’s recitation was in Latin and Narcissa had made him learn the verse before he was seven years old.  

 

Gently, Draco suggested the mourners hold their wands aloft as they sent Fred on his journey.  As with all pure-blood funerals, the living wore black and the deceased wore a white robe with his wand held in his hand.  Each mourner was given a red poppy to place in Fred’s casket.  Draco had non-family begin the process of saying their goodbyes to the brilliant jokester, then each Weasley, beginning with Ginny because she was the youngest, bid farewell to their fallen family member.  By the time Molly and Arthur were done, all Draco could hear were muffled sobs in the otherwise silent early morning.  

 

Using his wand to close and seal the casket, Draco called the brothers to lower the box into the ground.  Each man used his wand to ease Fred into his final resting place.  The Weasley brothers began to slowly cover the coffin with earth as Arthur tearfully spoke the final part of the ritual.

 

“Fred Weasley, son of mine, son of Molly, safe travels through the Veil and beyond.  Know that when you find your Elysium, your ancestors await you.  Father Septimus, Mother Cedrella, Father Augustus, Mother Marion, please guide your grandson to his place in the bosom of our family…”

 

The eldest Weasley recited the names of the dead for nine generations, as nine represented universal love, eternity, and faith for magical people.  

 

When Arthur finished, Draco had those present file out according to custom, beginning with the Weasley parents.  Draco would be the last to leave the grave, making sure the dirt was properly packed and the requisite spells were used to regrow the grass and flowers in the little cemetery.  It would be like Fred had always been here, amongst his kin.  

 

After everyone had left, Draco took a deep breath.  He’d never been the sole guide at a funeral.  His father had always been the one to conduct these things, but Lucius had taught him well and Draco had known deep in his bones what he needed to do.  So, it surprised him when he saw Hermione waiting for him beyond the white fence surrounding the headstones.

 

He walked to her and found himself in her arms.

 

“Thank you, Draco.  The Weasleys are so grateful.”

 

He knew they were.  Molly, her face streaked with tears, had pressed a motherly kiss to his cheek before she made her way from the burial site; Arthur had whispered his thanks.  Even Ron had offered Draco a nod of his head as he made his way past the blonde undertaker.    

 

“I know.”

 

She looked up at him and slowly leaned in, her eyes watching his.  They stared at each other as their lips met.  It wasn’t so much a kiss as an oath.  In helping the Weasleys, Draco had made it clear that he wasn’t the young man who had proudly taken the Dark Mark.  He was a man who had made a catastrophic mistake, but he desperately wanted to make amends.  If this girl would give him a chance to prove himself worthy, he had no doubt, in time, the rest of the wizarding world would come to accept him.     

 

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Hermione waited at the warehouse doors for Draco as he finished explaining to an Auror which dead were ready to return to their families.  When she’d first started assisting him, she’d worried that the Aurors, or the families of the dead, for that matter, would bully or insult Draco, but there was a solemn deference he had from those he dealt with.  He was so serious and careful to be respectful that people responded to him as a fellow survivor instead of as a Death Eater and a son of the Dark.  

 

“Are you ready?” he asked as they walked away from the room.

 

“I’m ready.  Thank you for coming with me to the house.”

 

“Have you heard anything from the Australian Ministry?”

 

She adjusted her bag and he took her hand.  She had, _thank Merlin_ , agreed to give him another chance, but it was slow and the work they did all day didn’t exactly facilitate romance.  But, he knew she had developed a respect for him she had lost when he’d opened the school to the Dark Lord’s troops.  

 

“No.  They haven’t been very helpful, since my parents are Muggles,” she admitted.

 

“Will you go and look for them?”

 

“I suppose that’s what I have to do.  My plan was to go back to Hogwarts for my last year, but the longer the Memory Charm is on my parents, the harder it will be to reverse.”

 

Draco nodded in agreement, but if anyone could bring back Hermione’s parents’ memories, it was this brilliant witch.  

 

In the next few days, both Lucius and Narcissa were due to stand before the Wizengamot for their crimes against both wizards and Muggles alike.  Draco knew Harry Potter planned to give testimony for Narcissa, but Lucius didn’t have anyone to speak on his behalf.  Draco had gone to see his parents right after they had arranged for his release in exchange for the necessary Malfoy undertaking skills, but Lucius had said he needed to atone for his deeds.  It was unlikely Draco could do anything for his father, but he could at least be there to attest to the fact that for most of the last year, the Malfoys had been prisoners in their own home.  

 

Noticing her partner lost in his thoughts, Hermione led him out of the Ministry and to the Apparition point.  

 

“I’m going to Side-Along to my parents’ house, okay?” she said, taking Draco’s arm in her hand.

 

A feeling of being sucked through a tube ended abruptly as they were spit out in an overgrown suburban yard.  Hermione held her wand aloft and began dismantling the wards surrounding the house.  

 

_No wonder the Death Eaters were never able to find the Granger’s home.  Probably better warding than the manor._

 

When she finished, she led him to the back door and opened it with a much sturdier version of _Alohomora_.  Though the interior was stale and dark, Draco could see it was modern and comfortable.  

 

“Lumos,” Hermione whispered.    

 

“You grew up here?” 

 

“I did.  My mum inherited the house when her parents died.”

 

They made their way through the house and it appeared undisturbed.  They ended up in Hermione’s room, which was totally lacking in anything that identified it as hers. 

 

“Where’s your stuff?”

 

She looked in the closet and Summoned a shoebox of magically shrunk items.  

 

“All my stuff is here.  I had to make it seem like I hadn’t been born, as not to confuse them.  They took all their personal affects with them to Australia, so the house looks like it could belong to anyone.”

 

“Do you still want to stay here?”

 

“The Weasleys have been really gracious, but honestly, I could use some time to sort out my own issues.  They’re very wrapped up in Fred’s death and I feel like an intruder a lot of the time.”

 

“I don’t want you to be by yourself.  Obviously, I have no say in what you do, but you’re really isolated here.”

 

Ever since Draco had decided to confide in Hermione Granger in their sixth year, he worried for her safety.  He’d seen first hand the heinous abuse Muggles and Muggle-borns had been subjected to, but she was the war’s most famous Muggle-born.  Her association with Potter and The Order made her the target of pure-blood sympathizers.  He was amazed nothing had happened to her since the smoke settled after the final battle.

 

“Well, I’m not sure if this is the compromise you were thinking, but you could stay with me,” she said hesitantly.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked, his confident, serious mask slipping.  Of course he wanted to be where she was.

 

“I think so,” she said, pulling him into a kiss.  He wrapped his arms around her and for the first time in months and months, she felt a sense of love and belonging and comfort.  It was surreal, being in her Obliviated parents’ house with her former nemesis, but she was home and with a wizard she’d bonded with in his darkest hours.  She didn’t know what would happen to them in the future, but they’d carried a torch for one another for over a year and that had to mean something in these bleak times.    

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“Get away from me!”_

 

_Draco grabbed her arm, pulling her against his chest as she struggled against him._

 

_“Please, you have to understand, I don’t have a choice!”  He said, begging her to comprehend the death that awaited his parents if he didn’t complete the task given to him by the Dark Lord._

 

_“Fuck you, Malfoy!  You used me as your confessor and to get your rocks off.”  With a final shove, she made to grab her wand, but Draco quickly pulled it out of her wand pocket._

 

_“You know that’s not true.  The safe passage out of England is the only way I can ensure your safety.  Take the amulet, Hermione.  It’s a Portkey to a cottage in Germany.”_

 

_She gave him an incredulous stare.  “I should hide while my friends are slaughtered by Death Eaters?  No thanks, I’d rather die than hole up like a coward, hiding in another country.”_

 

_In all the years he’d known Hermione, Draco had never seen her look so enraged and… disappointed.  But it was absolutely unlikely she’d survive the war._

 

_“The Dark Lord is powerful and the Death Eaters are devoted and vengeful.  There’s no way your side will win.  Please, Hermione, please don’t take Potter’s side.  You’ll be safe in Germany.”_

 

_Her breathing had become measured and deep in an effort to contain her violent emotions.  She wanted to simultaneously attack and seek comfort in Draco.  She closed her eyes for a moment before she responded._

 

_“No one should have to pick between their parents and what they know is right.”  His hold on her had loosened enough for her to step back.  She held out her hand to reclaim her wand.  Her composure cracked and a sob bubbled from her chest as he passed her wand back to her._

 

_His eyes burned as she glanced at him one last time.  Why couldn’t she understand what he had been trying to tell her for months?_

 

_“Goodbye, Draco,” she whispered as the door from the Room of Requirement materialized in front of her._

 

I’ll never see her again _was all he could think as he sat heavily, his burden and his torn heart making it impossible for him to get back to his dorm._

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It was dark when he woke from that bloody horrid memory dream.  Hermione quietly opened his door.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Yeah.”  His voice was so resigned it broke her heart. 

 

She moved to sit next to him on the bed and put an arm around his waist.  They sat in silence with Hermione lending Draco her warmth and silent support.  

 

“I’ll be a curse on you,” Draco murmured as he continued to look down at his lap.

 

Hermione lay down and tugged Draco to get him to lie beside her.  He pulled her under his chin, not wanting to see her big eyes studying him through the darkness.  He had held her this way so many times during their sixth year.  The scent of her hair and her warm breath against his chest had always calmed him.  

 

“Draco,” she whispered, nestling her body against his thin frame.  Merlin, he felt so good.  It was a relief that he wasn’t shutting her out.

 

“How can you forgive me for what I’ve done?”

 

One arm wrapped around his back and her fingers slowly stroked his naked skin.  He’d shown her such little vulnerability over the past few weeks, but his life was as tenuous as her own.  Since the final battle, it had been easy to focus on what she’d lost, but Draco’s losses were as great as anyone who had an investment in the war.  Add to that the fact that he’d been coerced into Voldemort’s service and Hermione’s heart had finally thawed enough to forgive him for the side he’d taken.

 

“I’d like to think that if your parents’ lives hadn’t been at stake, you would have made different choices.”

 

“I would’ve,” he agreed, tightening his fingers on her body.  

 

“And I’ve seen you act with great compassion and respect for the dead and their families.  That alone has shown me who you really are, Draco, more than anything.”

 

He was quiet as he considered what she’d said.  If the war had taught him anything, it was to appreciate every day he, and those he loved, had in this plane of existence.  He had seen endless lives snuffed out over the past year and it gave him the courage he needed to begin a new life without all the resources he had as a wealthy scion of the Malfoy family.  

 

“Will you help me start over?”

 

It was then Hermione realized while Draco had been helping the dead make their way to a new life in a peaceful, happier place, those who survived the war needed guides to help them through their transition to a better place as well.  He needed this as much as she did and if Hermione understood anything about wizarding culture, they couldn’t depend on others to help them solve their problems.  It would be up to each individual to heal in their own way and in their own time.  

 

“We can start over together.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Weeks passed and finally the never-ending procession of dead bodies seemed to ebb.  Draco and Hermione worked every day, from early in the morning until late in the evening.  They spent all their time together, but it was difficult to do more than fall exhausted into bed at the end of their day.  

 

One decision was made for Hermione that helped her make plans for the future.  Hogwarts would be closed for repairs the following school year.  The Final Battle had demolished huge sections of the school and the funds and manpower needed to help the castle were not as abundant as they would have been at another time.  Draco was not planning on going back to the school and had told Hermione he would take his N.E.W.T.s when the Ministry offered them the following spring.  She decided to follow suit and skip her final year of school.  She’d still take her tests, and ace them if she had anything to say about it, but she didn’t want to be an almost-twenty-year-old seventh year by the time the school finally opened up for students again.  

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  

The body Draco had been dreading preparing was his godfather, Severus Snape.  Nagini’s venom had ravaged his body and Draco had been surprised MacGonagall had Snape’s body shipped to the Ministry.  He’d left this wizard for last, both because he wanted time to make arrangements for the burial and to allow himself time to mourn the man who’d protected his body and, more importantly, his soul from total spiritual deterioration.

 

As soon as Draco opened Severus’ bag, the man’s ghost materialized and stared at him with disapproval.

 

“Draco,” the ghost drawled, his eyebrow quirked in question.

 

It was difficult, but this man needed to get to his beyond.  He deserved a happy end more than anyone Draco had ever known.

 

“Good evening, Godfather.  I’m preparing your for your journey,” he began, his throat closing up on the last word.  

 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Severus said in his dry, sarcastic manner.  “The Light won?”

 

“Yes, sir.  Potter was able to defeat the Dark Lord.”

 

Snape nodded.  “Your parents?”

 

“My mother is under house arrest for the next two years, but Father will remain in Azkaban.”  

 

Though he had been sad his father would stay in prison, it had not been a shock.  Even Lucius had known his crimes against humanity deserved severe retribution.  The man hadn’t even mounted much of a defense at his trial. 

 

“Ah,” Severus said, observing his godson.  Though the young man was somber, he seemed purposeful and not entirely unhappy.  “Miss Granger?”

 

“She lived, thank Merlin.”  

 

Draco’s Occlumency and Legilimency lessons with Professor Snape had shown the teacher details of his relationship with the Muggle-born witch.  Snape had known Draco had confided in her, but he’d been surprised by the intimate relationship that had developed between the two.  

 

“I am ready to go, Draco.  This time, I believe I will have my chance with Lily,” the Potions Master whispered.  

 

“Volui te vita tua omnia mea.”       

 

_Let your next life be all that you have wanted._

 

Severus gave him one of his elusive smiles, his ghostly image sinking back into his body.  When Draco looked at his godfather, the expression on his face was so peaceful, Draco knew things would only improve.  He wouldn’t let Severus’ sacrifice be in vain.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hermione Apparated to the Burrow and walked up the path to the tall, rickety house.  Harry met her in the grassy meadow, embracing her like the sister she was to him.

 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her hair.  

 

“I missed you, too,” she said into his chest.  

 

He slung an arm around her shoulder as they made their way to Molly’s shady, fragrant garden.  They sat on a bench under a huge oak tree.  Harry fished out his cigarettes and offered one to Hermione.

 

“No, I quit.”

 

“Malfoy’s a bloody bad influence on you,” he said with a small smile.  

 

She smiled back at her friend.  He had spent his summer at the Burrow, avoiding people and turning down offers in Magical Law Enforcement and other departments within the Ministry.  She wasn’t sure what he did all day, as Ron had accepted an offer to train with the Chudley Cannons and Ginny was helping George with the joke shop.  

 

“The Ministry released Draco from service yesterday, since the only bodies coming in now are unrelated to the war.  We’re going to Australia to look for my parents in a couple of days.”

 

“I would offer to go with you, but I have the feeling you two work pretty well as a team.”

 

“We do.  I have to try to find my parents before the Memory Charm becomes irreversible.”

 

They sat in silence as Harry took drags from his cigarette.  

 

“What do you want to do now?” she asked, hopeful her friend would find an outlet for his power and his big heart.  

 

“Don’t laugh, but I’m thinking about becoming a Healer.”

 

Resting her head on Harry’s shoulder, she smiled to herself.  Who wouldn’t want the great Harry Potter to heal them?  

 

“I think Healing will be a great use for your talents.  Have you spoken to anyone at St. Mungo’s?”

 

They talked for a few minutes about Harry’s plan before Hermione made her way back to the Apparition point.  

 

“I’m glad you found your way back to Malfoy.”

 

“That you accept him makes me love you even more,” Hermione said, hugging her comrade before making her way back to her parents’ home.  “You’re going to be a brilliant Healer.”

 

Harry smiled with gratitude for his friend, the woman who’d stood by him all these years.  He suspected Malfoy understood the type of brazen loyalty and love Hermione was willing to give.  His gut told him these two would need each other in the months to come.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

They landed in Melbourne, their Portkey taking them to a luxurious skyscraper hotel.  Hermione had received ten thousand Galleons for her part in defeating Voldemort and she felt that it would be nice to have a bit of a vacation from the dreariness back home.  

 

They grinned at each other upon seeing the beautiful hotel room overlooking the ocean.  The crisp white bedding and neutral, calm walls provided a tranquil backdrop for the couple.

 

“The whole war, this was my daydream.  Being with you in a faraway location, no one knowing who we are.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “I can’t believe we’re here.  I didn’t know if we’d ever have a chance.”

 

Draco pulled her onto his lap, in a playful way unlike his usual serious demeanor.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed the feel of his nose and lips nuzzling her neck.  Between the two of them, Draco was more experienced and tended to lead, but Hermione was a quick study.  During sixth year, they’d spent hours caressing, kissing, and stroking each other for pleasure, but also as a way to show they accepted and trusted each other.  Since Hermione had joined Draco in his work, they’d slowly began to get comfortable with touching each other again, but it was always tentative and cautious.  

 

Finding his lips, Hermione kissed him with passion, letting him know she wanted him as much as she hoped he wanted her.  Her tongue stroked his, and she moaned when he bit her bottom lip.  She began to unbutton his shirt as they devoured each other and exposed his lean chest.  His skin was smooth under her fingers and when her fingers glided over his nipple, she felt his groin rock into her.  

 

“Gods, Hermione,” he groaned, his lusty, hoarse voice an aphrodisiac in and of itself. 

 

She stood and began to undress.  He watched her with a predatory gleam in his eyes as she pulled off her jeans.  Next came her scoop neck top, a snug shirt Draco had thought made her tits look perfect.  

 

“I’ve missed this,” she said shyly.  

 

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her between his legs.  “May I?” he said, fingering her bra strap.  She smiled down at him.

 

Her small breasts were freed and bounced slightly in his face, the pink tips reacting to his attention.  He licked a nipple, the little bud tightening when he sucked it into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. 

 

One hand trailed down to her knickers, the wetness from her core leaving the fabric damp.  When she threw her head back and sighed, Draco pulled her onto the bed, urging her to lie before him.  He shucked off his remaining clothing and pulled off her little black knickers.   The sight that met him almost made him come all over her.  Her cunt was totally, utterly devoid of hair.  

 

“Merlin,” he said in awe, pushing her legs apart and lowering his face to her smooth slit.  He inhaled her musky perfume, remembering how she had been horrified the first time he had tried to kiss her there.  By the end of that night, she had been bucking her pussy against his mouth in an effort to orgasm.  Lucky for her, he loved to lick her quim and she had just made it that much easier for him to enjoy.  He licked her at first with a gentle, steady pressure, letting her body get accustomed to his intimate touch.  

 

“Oh, Gods, Draco, that feels good.”

 

His nose grazed her clit, making her gasp.  He tongued her sensitive opening before focusing on the bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft.  She loved when he would focus pressure at the top of her clitoris.  

 

Her hands were in his hair, tightening on his scalp when he pulled himself up, crawling between her legs.  

 

“I can’t wait any longer,” he said as he took his cock in his hand and guided it into her tightness.  

 

Hermione pulled him into her arms and enjoyed the feeling of fullness as he pushed into her.  Draco was well hung and she hadn’t been with anyone since the last time they were together over a year before.  Her body accepted him, clenching around his erection.  Her arms clung to him as he began to roll his hips into hers.  

 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured into her ear, before taking her lips with his own.  

 

The kiss seemed to be the trigger that eased whatever lingering worries she had.  She kissed him back and he swore he could feel her smiling.  His thrusts were deep and slow and her hips met his, allowing the head of his penis to rub her g-spot. 

 

“More?” he asked, watching her for signs of an impending orgasm.

 

“Please,” she groaned, grabbing his arse to help her move against him.

 

His thrusts became harder and faster and Hermione writhed under him, her moans and breathy exhalations spurring him on.  

 

“Are you close?”

 

She nodded, biting her lip.  

 

He angled his body to allow him to hit her clit on every stroke.

 

“Tell me when you’re going to come so we can come together.”

 

“I’m close, I’m close.  Faster…oh, oh…yes, Draco, now!”

 

Her head thrown back and her lovely, pouty mouth emitting sounds of provocative utterances, Draco finally let himself go.  His loud groan gave way to surprising, at least to Hermione, words of love and possession.

 

“Gods, Granger, you’re so fucking beautiful.  Look at me, witch,” he said, his slate grey eyes boring into hers.  She stared at him, lightly panting, as he continued to slowly thrust into her to prolong his orgasm.  “Please tell me you know how much I love you.”

 

Still embedded in her body, he let his weight fall onto her as she held him.  Sometimes it was easier to confess something to someone when it didn’t feel like they were looking right at your soul.

 

“I know you love me.  It was easier to tell myself you were using me, but I always knew in my heart that wasn’t the case.  I love you, too,” she confessed, her words tickling his ear.  “Being away from you made the last year even harder than it already was.”

 

He pulled out of her, instantly missing the connection of their bodies.  They faced each other, their heads cushioned on the pillow.    

 

Draco had been allowed to keep his Malfoy family crest ring.  It was one of very few items that displayed his heritage that he didn’t want to burn on sight. He slid the ring off his finger and found her hand, singling out her ring finger.

 

In a most serious voice, he began the ancient words to transfer the ring to his beloved.  It was a practice the Malfoys had used to weed out the “impure” and the family ring would only adapt to those who had substantial magic.  To his knowledge, this practice had been used as a threat to eliminate half-bloods and Muggle-born witches from his family, but he truly believed the intent of the practice was to only admit the strongest witches into the family, not the best bred.  He didn’t think his ancestors had attempted to put this ring on any witch outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

 

“Pura luce tueri.  Tueri per diem et noctem.  Tueri defendant a nocentibus. 

Tueri negative navitas.  Hoc non erit irritum.  Sic fiat .” 

 

_Protect with light that is pure. Protect through day and night. Protect from harm. Protect from negative energy. This shield cannot be broken. So mote it be._

 

“May I?” he asked, positioning the ring to be slid onto her finger.  He knew her understanding of Latin was good enough to understand his intent.  

 

She nodded and the smooth metal circle slid onto her finger, the ring quickly adjusting to her slender digit.

 

Hermione had read about these pure-blood rituals when Fleur and Bill had been preparing for their wedding and knew she had to accept his offer before the protective family magic would recognize her.  Her Latin wasn’t as good as Draco’s, but she remembered the lovely words and attempted to stutter through them.

 

“Genus Fata benedictus cor meum, genus fatum benedixit dilectione mea, et humili corde gratias, deae gratias pro anima mea, deae gratias pro dilectione mea, beneficiis gratias dea iam abire.  Alica excipiatur, ita fiat.”

 

_The kind fates have blessed my heart, the kind fate has blessed my love, I offer thanks with a humble heart, I thank the Goddess for my life, I thank the Goddess for my love, I thank the goddess for blessings already on their way.  The spell is cast, so mote it be._

 

But the words flowed from her, some ancient magic allowing her to accept his offer as gracefully as he had given his words of protection.  The ring glowed for a moment and then became the Malfoy family ring once more, only smaller to fit her finger.

 

The enormity of what they had just done hit them at the same time, but instead of being worried that they had acted rashly, they both felt a huge sense of relief.  

 

“We really _can_ be together,” Hermione said in awe.  

 

Draco face lit up as he looked at his ring on her finger.  “I don’t want to be away from you ever again.  I know I don’t have much to offer you, but I’ll do what I can to make you happy to be with me.”

 

And somehow she knew he would make good on his promise. 

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_Seven Year Later_

 

“Hermione, are you ready?” Draco asked, attempting to adjust a small, golden haired boy and a bag of supplies on his arm.  

 

“Almost,” she called back.  

 

“Huwwy, Mummy!” the little boy, Orion, called out.  

 

The boy and his father turned to look at Hermione as she walked into the room, her Healer robes identifying her as a member of the Spells Damage Ward.  

 

“Are you ready to see Nana?” Hermione said to her son, pressing a kiss to the baby’s chubby cheek and then catching her husband’s lips in a quick kiss.

 

“Love Nana,” Orion said with a sweet grin.

 

The couple and their child took the Floo to Malfoy Manor.  Narcissa was ready to take Orion as soon as they got through the large fireplace.

 

“Did you two eat?  The elves made a wonderful frittata this morning.” Narcissa said to her son and daughter-in-law.

 

Draco smiled at his mother, always amazed at her ability to adapt to her life as it currently stood.  She’d spent her house arrest making the dark, war-torn manor livable and safe.  But her biggest, and most therapeutic, task was writing a book about the experience of living under the thumb of a true despot.  Some of what she’d written Draco had known, but much he did not.  He was amazed to find out some of the things his mother had had to do to keep others safe.

 

“Thank you, but we did eat,” Hermione said to Narcissa.  “My parents will be here next week and my mum wanted you to join us for a bit of shopping.”

 

After Draco and Hermione had found Monica and Wendell Wilkins and their daughter had returned their memories, the Grangers were hesitant to return to England.  But they had invited their daughter and her intended to stay with them and recuperate in Australia while they studied for their N.E.W.T.s.  The young couple, needing to get away from the memories of the war, accepted their offer.  The Grangers hadn’t known what to expect from Draco Malfoy, but they grew to love him like a son.  He was respectful, intellectual, and curious about the unknown Muggle world Hermione’s family inhabited.  When Hermione and Draco had gone back to England, her parents had gifted her their house, where the young family currently lived in the suburbs of London.   

 

“Tell her I’d love to,” Narcissa said warmly to the woman she’d come to care for over the past several years.  

 

Draco kissed the crown of his mother’s head.  “We have to go, Mother.  Our shifts begin in a few minutes.”

 

“I have a stack of new books waiting for Orion,” Narcissa said, scooping up her grandson as they waved goodbye to his parents. 

 

The couple stepped through the Floo to St. Mungo’s.  With all his experience preparing the dead, Draco understood how to heal a body from the most violent of injuries.  He’d quickly been identified as a candidate for Magical Surgery.  His patience, attention to detail, and excellent bedside manner contributed to his success.  

 

As they walked to their shared office, Hermione reminded her husband that Harry wanted to schedule a game of Quidditch.  

 

“Is he working today?”

 

“I think he has a double shift in the Emergency Room.”

 

Draco laughed.  “Always the hero.”

 

Hermione wrapped an arm around her husband’s waist.  “Come find me if you have time for lunch.”

 

They instinctively met in a kiss before parting ways.  

 

“I will,” Draco promised, and watched Hermione make her way to the elevator.  

 

The voice in his head, who sounded suspiciously like Severus Snape, praised his godson for the life he’d chosen for himself.  

 

“This life you live with the witch you love, it’s what I fought for.”

 

“I know, Godfather.  I am forever grateful for your sacrifice.”

 

“It was worth it.”  

 

From the beyond, Severus Snape confirmed what Draco knew to be true.  For everything he had lost, Draco had gained ten-fold in return. 


	14. Family Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Draco finds Hermione unable to sleep, he offers her peace and comfort in his arms.

 

 

On the second day of his repeated seventh year, her hoarse yells woke Draco.  He bolted into the hallway and followed the desperate sounds, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t see yet another horrible act of violence.

 

What he found was Hermione Granger, on the common room sofa, curled into herself and  sobbing.

 

He knelt and gently asked, “Are you hurt?”

 

She shook her head and tried to calm herself.  She took deep, stuttering breaths while Draco quietly murmured for her to breathe.  After a few minutes, Draco stood.

 

“I’m going back to bed.  You should try to get some sleep, as well.”

 

“Okay,” she mumbled, standing and meeting his eyes.

 

She was thin and tiny, a full head shorter than him.  He hadn’t realized she was so petite, having always thought of her as larger than life.  Her skin was practically translucent and her dark eyes looked so wary.  They walked side-by-side and when they reached her room, she stopped.

 

“I can’t…”

 

Draco wasn’t really thinking clearly when he took her hand.

 

“I know,” he murmured.  “You can stay with me tonight if it helps.”

 

He led her into his room and she let him tuck her under his covers.

 

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she whispered into the darkened room.  

 

For the first time in three months, Hermione slept until the sun began to rise.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  

 

She tapped on his door with her fingertips before letting herself into his bedroom.

 

“I can’t sleep.”

 

Her voice reminded him of a scared little girl, he mused to himself.  He motioned Hermione towards the bed.  Her lithe frame felt cool as she accidentally touched his bare chest.  She moved about until her body spooned against his and he wrapped an arm about her waist, his hand splayed over her belly.  

 

“G’night,” she murmured, her body relaxing in his warmth.

 

He nuzzled her hair and tightened his hold before blessedly falling back to sleep.  In the morning she was gone, her warm scent the only reminder that she had, indeed, been in his bed last night.

 

He flung a hand over his eyes and groaned.  He was on thin ice this school year, having been placed at Hogwarts for a repeated seventh year instead of in Azkaban.  He was pretty sure he’d be a dead man if anyone ever found the Golden Girl in his bed, wearing that flimsy shite she called a nightgown.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Draco watched his bed partner listen to her fellow Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom, while she ate breakfast.  She ignored him during the day, refusing to meet his eyes when he passed her in the hall or saw her in the library.  Hermione never sat near him during classes, although to be fair, nobody else did, either, so he worked alone when everyone else paired up.  

 

He knew he was considered “trouble” and _not_ in the sexy, exciting way.  He was trouble in the way that made people think that they’d be associated with his bad choices and deeds by mere proximity to him.  The horrors of the Final Battle had killed off any notion that his brand of “bad boy” was desirable in any way.  

 

He wasn’t sure why she came to him when she’d be welcome to share any number of beds in their “repeater” dorm.  Although he wanted to ask her, he didn’t, fearing their odd night time ritual would end if he began to question it.  And though she came to him in the night, he wondered if perhaps he got more comfort from her than she did from him.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Some nights she kissed him tentatively, her full lips pressed against his as Draco let her lead.  Her tongue would lick at the seam of his lips, until he opened for her, feeling electrified by her kisses.  Instinctually, he’d begin to pull her closer, but she’d break the kiss, hiding her face in his neck.  They’d fall asleep this way, under a cocoon of downy covers.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

On days when he got a letter from his father in Azkaban or his childhood friend, Greg, he’d lock his door and ignore her gentle tapping.  He slept poorly, feeling guilty for having escaped imprisonment and for ignoring Hermione’s need for what little he could offer her.  

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A week before the Yule holiday, Draco received an owl from his mother, letting him know she planned on taking an extended holiday throughout Asia.  Though he hadn’t been looking forward to going back to Malfoy Manor, he’d yearned to see his mum and enjoy some of the comforts of home.  

 

He was a ghost at Hogwarts, having less interaction with other students than the actual specters that haunted the campus.  No one acknowledged his presence, save Hermione Granger in the dead of night.  She didn’t bestow a smile or nod at him in the hall or in classes.  She sat in the front of the room, never seeming to notice his predicament of lacking a partner during projects.  

 

He sighed and put the letter into his book, feeling disappointed and slightly betrayed.  His mother was one of the few people who seemed to still believe in him and she was leaving him during his first break from school in months.  He knew the isolation he felt was what he’d earned for serving the Dark Lord, but it was psychologically challenging to be alone in the midst of others.    

 

This feeling persisted as he made his way to bed.  He was sick of this place, sick of feeling like he couldn’t say a fucking word, sick of people refusing to meet his eyes.  And he was especially tired of letting Granger interrupt his sleep on an almost nightly basis when she didn’t even have the bloody courtesy of acting like they were something to each other.  Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but they were more than mere acquaintances.

 

It was close to one in the morning when her light tapping against his door woke him.  She opened the unlocked door and closed it behind her, slowly making her way towards Draco’s bed.

 

He sat up, letting the blankets pool around his waist.  

 

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered as she normally did when she entered Draco’s room.

 

He looked at her for a moment, noticing her shivering in the frigid December air of the drafty castle, before shifting so she could have his warm spot under the covers.  She turned towards him and put a hand against his chest.  

 

“Why do you come here, Granger?” he asked with irritation.  “You have friends.  Why come here?”

 

She began to move her hand, but he grabbed it, holding it against his chest.  He waited for several moments, but she didn’t say anything.

 

“You see, I can’t quite fathom how someone you can’t bring yourself to look at during the day becomes the person you turn to at night.”

 

“What do you mean?” she said feebly.

 

“You’re too smart to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he sneered, pushing away from her and onto his back.  

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Get out.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

He got out of bed and walked to his door.  

 

“You don’t get to do this anymore, Granger.  Leave.”

 

She scrambled out of his bed and rushed through the open door.  A second later, he heard her door shut with a definitive click.

 

He thought he’d feel better for confronting her, but instead he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.  

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Hermione crawled back into her bed and immediately felt the press of tears on her eyes.  She didn’t cry out of fear or anger, but because Draco had been right to confront her.  She knew it was wrong to ignore him, but she hadn’t known if he actually wanted to be her friend.  She cried because she’d hurt him, the person her body had realized would comfort her before her mind had finally come to the same conclusion.  He’d accepted her, letting her take from him, and she’d treated him like a pariah during school hours.  

 

Her feelings for the Slytherin had evolved over the course of the school year.  Yes, she was comforted by him, but she worried that he felt pity for her.  She didn’t want that from him.  She was attracted to his silky hair and straight, white teeth, his lean build and his intoxicating scent.  But, her feelings both confused and scared her.  He’d not said anything to indicate he reciprocated her feelings, had he?  A voice in her head scoffed.  _Did he really have to say he reciprocates your feelings?  Aren’t his actions obvious?_  

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

He felt guilty seeing the dark circles under her eyes over the next few days.  The castle had emptied of students and only a small handful remained.  Draco caught Hermione looking at him, a sadness in her eyes he hardly expected.  He studied her Muggle clothes, worn and faded, and began to wonder how this formerly fastidious girl was getting along.  He’d heard rumors that her parents had somehow perished during the war, although to his knowledge the Death Eaters had nothing to do with it.  He dearly hoped that was the case. 

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Christmas Eve was traditionally when Hermione would celebrate with her parents.  They’d attend evening mass to enjoy the peace and beauty of the choir and the church.  Her mum would make a rich hot chocolate and buttery biscuits and they’d sit in front of the fire and enjoy a movie on the telly.  Hermione’s parents would even let her open a gift before bed.  It was those memories where she felt incredibly cared for and accepted that had both sustained her over the war and haunted her when she realized she’d never be able to reverse the Obliviation she’d done on her parents before she left with Ron and Harry.

 

Shockingly, she’d felt that same sense of care and acceptance with Draco Malfoy, cocooned in his warm bed, pressed against his solid form.  He had grown to be quite serious over the course of the last few years, but she felt drawn to him in a way she didn’t really understand.  She missed him terribly and hadn’t had a decent sleep since he kicked her out of his room.  She wondered if he would forgive her callousness.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Draco pulled out a little velvet bag from his dresser and removed the protection amulet he’d ordered for Hermione.  It was a Goblin-wrought platinum chain with three round, green tourmaline stones in a row at its center.  He knew green tourmaline was used to aid sleep, but he’d wanted to buy Hermione something fine for Christmas.  He wondered if she’d accept his gift. 

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

In an effort to salvage her depressing Christmas Eve, she Transfigured items in her room to recreate her childhood home’s living room, complete with a twinkling Christmas tree.  She’d borrowed Dean Thomas’ telly before he left for the holidays, amazed that Dean had figured out how to use magic to power the device.  He’d lent her a small collection of movies and old shows and she planned on watching most of them over the break and gorging herself on treats she’d nick from the dining hall.  

 

Hermione consoled herself by contrasting her holiday this year and the previous year, where she’d been on the run with Harry and cold, hungry, and scared most of the time.  At least now she was safe, warm, and well-fed.  But she mourned the loss of her parents and she desperately missed Draco.  She’d slept poorly for days, but worse, she felt as if she’d lost both a friend and a lover.  She shook her head, knowing she was blowing this out of proportion, as they’d never done more than kiss, however their closeness over the past few months had felt just as intimate.

 

She snuggled into couch cushions, wrapping a blanket about her body and used her wand to “turn on” the telly.  She’d make the best of it by watching some old episodes of Black Adder.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It was close to eleven at night when Draco gathered the courage to go to Hermione’s room.  He knocked quietly, but when she didn’t answer, he opened the door to find not a Hogwarts bedroom, but a modest sitting room with a television, if he remembered the name of the Muggle object correctly.  A Christmas tree lit with white lights glimmered in the corner.  An empty mug of tea sat on a small table in front of the couch.  A plate of simply iced biscuits sat beside the mug.  Hermione was asleep, her face burrowed in a blanket.  

 

He knew she must have been homesick to have Transfigured her room into a room from a Muggle house.  Draco didn’t want Hermione to long for another place when he knew he could provide some comfort for her.  Very gently, he used his wand to enlarge the couch so he could lay beside her.  She stirred and he shifted next to her, wrapping his arms around her.

 

“Draco?” she asked sleepily.

 

“Go back to sleep, Hermione.  We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

“Not mad anymore?”

 

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he shook his head.  

 

“I can’t stay mad at you.”

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Two fragrant mugs of chocolate and a plate of beautifully iced cinnamon scones sat on a small table in front of the couches.  The howling wind of the previous evening had given way to a peaceful snowfall.  Draco sat up and looked around for Hermione.

 

She came into the room a moment later, her face freshly washed.

 

“Happy Christmas,” she said.  

 

“Happy Christmas,” Draco murmured.  

 

He made room for her on the enlarged couch and she sat and took a steaming mug in her hands.  

 

“When I was a girl, after we went to church, my mum would make hot chocolate and biscuits and we’d watch movies on the telly.  It’s one of my fondest memories as a child.”  

 

She offered Draco one of the steaming mugs and took a sip of her own drink.  Draco knew she was trying to tell him something meaningful, and though he wanted to ask her questions, he waited patiently.

 

She put down her drink and looked at her hands.  Out tumbled the story of her life, beginning with the Obliviation of her parents and her inability to reverse the Obliviation.  She’d talked to everyone she knew who might be able to help them and found confirmation time and again that every day that passed changed their brain structures to truly believe what it did after the act of Obliviation.  She risked permanently damaging the brains of her brilliant, wonderful parents with a reversal of the spell at this point and she found herself without a family.

 

Harry and Ron were supportive, but were wrapped up in their Auror training and enjoying the fruits of their hard work and bravery.  She received letters from them often, but she knew their paths had diverged.  She wanted to work in academia, not government.  The idea of being surrounded by all the Ministry officials who had stood by and let Voldemort and his ilk take over the government showed her the low level of integrity that group as a whole had.  And frankly, she needed to nourish her mind, rather than learn to walk the line of politics.  

 

Finally, she stopped talking and looked at Draco, who had quietly listened to her this entire time.  Without thinking, she had taken his hand, holding onto it tightly as she told him her story.

 

“How, exactly, do I fit into this?” he asked.

 

She looked at him, knowing the future of this thing between them was dependent upon her answer.  He had been accepting of her and her issues, never asking her for more than she could offer.  She owed him the truth.

 

“That first night, when you comforted me after my nightmare, I felt safe for the first time in months.  I had this intense sense of familiarity and belonging when you held me.”

 

“Family magic,” Draco murmured, realizing why he felt so upset she had ignored him all semester.  Family magic was some of the most powerful magic in the wizarding world.  Blood family had it, but married couples, who were together for love, had it as well.  Family members who betrayed broke the bond of familial magic.  His father had broken the bond with him and his mother by failing to protect them from the Dark Lord.

 

“Oh,” Hermione breathed.  “Oh, my goodness.  My parents are Muggles, so I didn’t grow up with it.  Harry had mentioned feeling that kind of love from the Weasleys, but I thought he was just grateful for their kindness.  It never occurred to me that there was a magical bond between them.  I…I never felt that with them.”

 

Draco cleared his throat.  “My mother and I have the bond.”

 

Hermione nodded, understanding why Draco didn’t share the magical bond with Lucius.  

 

“What does…why do you think we have that bond?  Or is it one-sided?” she asked with wide eyes.

 

“No, it’s not one sided,” Draco said, stroking her wrist with his thumb.  “I don’t know exactly.  The situations…in the war…I wanted to help you and I couldn’t.  I wish there was more I could have done for you.  I wish there was more I could do for you _now_.”

 

“You have helped me these past months and I didn’t act with consideration of your feelings.  I’m ashamed of my behavior,” Hermione acknowledged, her throat beginning to tighten as she fought off tears.

 

“No one wants to associate with me.  I know I deserve it, but…I don’t know.  I thought there was more to what was happening between us.”

 

The tears she had been holding back trailed down her face.  She opened her mouth to say something, then wiped at her face, trying to calm herself.

 

“This is difficult,” she finally got out.  

 

He was taken completely by surprise when she put her arms around his neck and hid her face in his chest.  Quite naturally, he began stroking her back and nuzzling her hair.  A strain he’d felt in his chest for the past few weeks eased as she accepted comfort from him.  

 

“You smell good,” she murmured.

 

He chuckled.  “You smell good, too, love.”

 

“I’ve missed you.  I’m sorry I hurt you.”

 

He looked at her, in her worn Muggle nightshirt and knew he would do anything for her, if given the chance.  He wanted the bond they had to strengthen and grow.  

 

“That day,” Draco said, referring to the day he kicked her out of his room, “my mother had sent me a letter telling me she was leaving the country for an extended holiday.  She’s one of the few people I actually care for and I was angry.  I acted hastily that day.”

 

Hermione sat up and looked into Draco’s eyes.  “You didn’t act hastily, you acted honestly.  I just…don’t know what exactly we are to each other.  We were never friends before, so I wasn’t sure you wanted me to acknowledge you outside of these rooms.  But I know you’ve changed.”

 

“It’s probably in your best interest to ignore me in public.  Your friends would think you were barmy if we became friends.”

 

“Maybe,” she conceded.  “What about your friends or your mum?”

 

He laughed sharply.  “What friends?  As for my mother, she wants what I want.  She wants me to be happy.”

 

She looked at their entwined hands and took a deep breath.

 

“Do you think I would make you happy?”

 

For the first time, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.  It was slow and sensuous and Hermione found she couldn’t get enough of him.  He pulled away from the kiss and looked into her eyes before cupping her face and stroking his thumb over her cheek.

 

“You make me happy.  I guess the real question is whether you want the bond we have to develop.”

 

“I’m…I’m me.  Muggle-born.  If this develops…?”

 

He nodded, having accepted, even desiring, what she was so nervously asking.

 

“We can be together without marriage, although I’d prefer us to be a family in the legal as well as the magical sense.”

 

“Oh…wow.  Are you sure?  Are you not nervous about this?”

 

He chuckled.  “I’m bloody terrified!  I don’t want you to regret this, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like this is the right decision.  After the first night you stayed with me, I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in years.”

 

“You did?”

 

He nodded and smiled at her, the loving way he looked at her showing in his grey eyes.

 

“I have a Christmas gift for you,” he said, taking the velvet bag out of his trousers.  

 

She took the bag and opened it, pulling out the three-stone necklace and admiring the beauty of it.

 

“The stone is tourmaline, which is used to aid sleep.  I had a goblin jeweler make it for you.”

 

“Put it on me.”

 

She turned away from him and lifted her long hair away from her neck.  He gently guided the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp before pressing a kiss to her nape.  He felt her shiver in response.

 

Hermione turned and he felt a very male sense of pride at his witch wearing a necklace he had gifted her.  

 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

 

She blushed and looked down.

 

“I’m sorry I don’t have a gift for you,” she admitted.  

 

“I’m with the most brilliant, brave, and enticing witch in the world.  That’s worth more to me than any gift.”

 

Her answering smile was open and accepting.  

 

“Show me how this telly works.”

 

They spent the day in each other’s arms, using the movies on the television as an excuse to be close.  Draco rather liked this tradition and found himself hoping he could do this every Christmas day.

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

As in most families, traditions are taken from both sides of the family and made into new rituals.  

 

 

 

Narcissa insists the young couple have Christmas Eve dinner with her on their second holiday as a couple.  Draco watches in awe as his mother gifts Hermione one of the precious Black family diamond bracelets, which is imbued with spells to protect and strengthen the mind of the wearer.  Hermione looks at Draco, who nods at her to accept the gift.  The gift is Narcissa’s show of acceptance of her son’s choice of mate.  She recognizes the bond they share and will work to help her son strengthen it.  Hermione Granger might be Muggle-born, but she’s as powerful a witch as any from the ancient and noble Black family.

 

 

 

On their fifth Christmas together, instead of gorging themselves on holiday goodies and watching movies in their most comfy clothes, they find themselves making their way to Azkaban to escort Lucius Malfoy home.  He is thin with shorn hair and dark circles under his eyes.  Draco can’t seem to move as he stares at his father, so it is Hermione, in her aubergine cashmere robes, who takes an exhausted Lucius by the arm and discreetly casts a warming charm on him.

 

“Who are you?” he whispers.

 

“I’m Draco’s wife,” the petite brunette says with an encouraging smile.  “Narcissa is waiting at Malfoy Manor for you, but we thought you might want to come to our home to shower and change before you saw her.”

 

“I…yes, I’d appreciate that,” he says with a squeeze to her arm.

 

He is grateful for the thoughtfulness of this unknown witch who is married to his son.

 

 

Seven year into their relationship, they are new parents with a two-month old boy.  He is beautiful and healthy, but he doesn’t sleep through the night.  That year, the young Malfoy family stays at Malfoy Manor at Draco’s parents urging so they can get some rest and enjoy the services of the obliging elves.  When Lucius hears the baby stir at five in the morning, he takes the child and walks him up and down the halls of the vast house.  He loves the baby, Orion, and has a great affection for the child’s Muggle-born mother.  Hermione is intelligent, well-spoken, and eased into life as a Malfoy with aplomb, but more than that, he finds the young witch compassionate and kind.  She has been a bridge between himself and Draco after their years of estrangement and for that, Lucius could not be more grateful.   

 

 

Their tenth Christmas together is an anniversary of sorts and they decide to spend a few days away to celebrate.  Draco’s parents have Orion, who will be spoiled rotten by the time they get back from their trip. 

 

Draco watches Hermione read her book as they lay on the Caribbean beach.  In the ten years they’ve been together, he has watched her grow into herself as an intellectual, a wife, and a mother.  She is still thin, although her body is more curvaceous than it was before.  Her thick hair curls about her face in the ocean breeze and he marvels at how she seems to get more beautiful as the years go by.  He thought she would resist some of the advantages of being married to one of the richest wizards in Great Britain, but he quickly learns she loves life’s pleasures.   

 

Hermione put her book down and smiles at Draco.  “What are you thinking about, love?”

 

He leans over and kisses her, letting one hand linger on her waist.

 

“Do you remember when you asked me that first Christmas if I thought you would make me happy?”

 

She nods, remembering how scary, but exhilarating it was to admit to her feelings for Draco and how her heart had felt like it would burst when he admitted that he felt the same way.

 

“I do.”

 

“I’m so much happier than I could have ever imagined.”

 

Hermione places a hand over his heart.  “I am, too, Draco.”

 

“Merry Christmas, love.”

 

“Merry Christmas.” 


	15. With Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Hermione cuts off contact with Draco, he seeks her out with a peace offering of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short piece was written for DramioneLove Mini Fest 2016 and betaed by the talented SilverSecrets. The prompt for the story was "tea".

Hermione watched the four year-old girl play on the jungle gym, swinging her tiny body from one bar to another. Her eyes never left her charge, even as a paper cup filled with tea was pressed into her hand.

 

“Good afternoon,” Draco murmured, taking a seat next to the silent witch.

 

She didn’t speak to him, keeping her eyes on the playground.  Words were never exchanged, at least not on Hermione’s part.  Draco’s words were tentative and he was always careful not to say something which would further alienate him from the witch he sat beside.

 

The day was grey and cold and Hermione shivered as a gust of wind blew against the back of her exposed neck.  She hadn’t been prepared for the change in weather and her long-sleeved shirt did little to keep her warm. Taking off his coat, Draco draped it across her shoulders.  His warmth seeped into her chilled body for a few moments before she stood, letting the black coat fall to the park bench.

 

“Come, Toula,” Hermione called to the girl, and she walked away without a backward glance at the blond.    

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_His fingers played an imaginary rhythm on her bare back as she sighed._

 

_“Do you like this?”_

 

_“Mmm,” she hummed, letting her thin frame relax into his naked body._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“You’re not going to see your parents for the winter hols?”_

 

_Hermione shrugged and went back to her book._

 

_“Do you…do you need to borrow—“_

 

_She stood abruptly and grabbed her bag.  Draco would have been angry at her reaction, had he not seen the tears threatening to spill from her dark eyes as she rushed out of his quarters._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“Are you going to open the owls the Ministry’s sent you?”_

 

_She threw another parchment on her littered desk.  “No.”_

 

_“Why ever not?”_

 

_Rolling her eyes, she began to Vanish the scrolls bearing the Ministry of Magic’s wax seal._

 

_“I don’t trust the Ministry and I certainly don’t want to work there.”_

 

_“What do you plan to do after you graduate?”_

 

_Finally, after several long moments, she turned to him as if considering what to say. In the end, she said nothing._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“Hermione,” he called through the thick wooden door of her quarters.  “Granger, open the bloody door!”_

 

_He offered every password he could think of to the painting guarding her room, but the Medieval figure would only sniff at Draco and shake his head._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_“Did you need to speak with me, Mr. Malfoy?”_

 

_It was an unspoken rule for the students of Hogwarts to sort out their personal issues without the aid of their teachers, but Draco had spent the day with visions of Hermione wasting away in her bed, perhaps hurt by her own hand.  He confessed to McGonagall that he’d not seen Hermione in over two days._

 

_He stood in the hallway and watched as Professors McGonagall and Sinistra entered Hermione’s room, leading out a bedraggled, wild-haired woman who glared at him with an expression of utter betrayal.  Later, McGonagall thanked Draco for noticing Hermione’s predicament and informed him she would be in good hands at St. Mungo’s._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

_The hospital wouldn’t let him see her since he wasn’t considered family.  Hogwarts graduation came and went. Draco went home._

 

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It was by accident that Draco discovered Hermione was a childminder for a wealthy Muggle family with a magical child.  His aunt, Andromeda, had mentioned it in passing as she spoke to Narcissa about how she had put Hermione in contact with the family, who Andromeda knew through her late husband, Ted.  From there, it had been easy to find the house where Hermione resided with the family.

 

Each day, without fail, Hermione would Apparate her charge to a park in a magical neighborhood, so the girl might meet others like herself.  And every afternoon, Draco would take his lunch break from his work at Gringotts to grab two cups of tea and offer one to the witch who still wouldn’t look at him, but at least allowed him to sit beside her.

 

“Earl Grey with cream and one sugar,” Draco said, handing the cup to Hermione.  It had been three months and she had yet to utter one word to him.  At least she appeared healthier than she had months before. 

 

Unable to take her quiet for one more minute, he bit out,“I’m sorry.  I’m just…I’m so bloody sorry.”

 

When she turned her head towards him, the warm scent of her hair reminded him of the nights when she would let him brush her tangled locks after a bath.  Before he knew what he was doing, he’d thrown his arms around her, breathing in her distinctive smell.

 

_One last time,_ he told himself.

 

He was about to let go when he felt an arm wrap around his back and a face buried itself in his neck.  Draco let himself absorb her fragile essence, willing her to understand his love for her would wait until she was ready to let him in.  

 

“Just…give me time while I put myself back together,” Hermione whispered.

 

“I’ll be here,” he murmured into her temple.  

 

“With tea?” she asked with a watery laugh.

 

“With tea,” he assured her, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have enjoyed my short stories, consider subscribing to my writing! Posting of my longer works will begin soon. Thank you for reading and for your support. <3


	16. Signs of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after the Muggle Apocalypse, Draco and Hermione find themselves at a crossroads in their relationship.

It was so quiet without the Muggles.   

 

As a last “fuck you” to the world, and I daresay a reason that snake-faced psychopath might have been trying to live forever, Voldemort laid a curse on the world, causing a virus to rip through Muggle bodies at such a fast rate that the world’s population went from six billion to just over two million in a matter of days.  Only those with magical blood could fight off the virus, which stopped the heart from pumping blood to the body.

 

Urban centers, where people had lived stacked in tall buildings of flats, were the worst for the Ministry to deal with, due to rotting bodies littering the streets and the stench of rotting flesh thick in the breeze.  At first, groups of wizards and witches had gone into these areas, attempting to clean up the carnage, but after a few weeks, it was determined that setting Fiendfire to the cities was the best course.  The few national treasures that could be saved were taken back to the Ministry, but I knew this was the apocalypse.  The world was a new, lonely place without our Muggle counterparts.

 

I’d never understood the way the wizarding world used the Muggle world to provide  agricultural and manufactured items.  I was raised to think we had nothing to do with them, so it came as a shock to find out our world was running out of fresh food.  Our world was able to sustain itself for several months before the lack of Muggle resources caused the magical people to begin to fight amongst themselves.  Malfoy Galleons were worthless when there wasn’t any food to buy.      

 

In the years since the Muggle Apocalypse, I came to truly understand what it meant to be exhausted.  All our house elves were commandeered by the Ministry soon after the war ended, so it was up to me to maintain the vast Malfoy property.  I spent my days tending the large gardens and animals I had managed to barter for, but I needed assistance.  However, everyone was in the same situation and most spent their days the way I did.  I felt envy for large families like the Weasleys, where help was readily available.  I wondered how my parents would have fared if they hadn’t been killed in the final battle.  Would they be shocked that the Muggle Apocalypse brought down magical society, too? 

 

The one consistent person I could count on was my closest neighbor, Hermione Granger.

 

* * *

 

 

My mind thought back on our first meeting.  

 

_After the Final Battle, I claimed my parents’ bodies and interred them in the Malfoy crypt.  I mourned them, but I knew if I was going to survive and carry on a better Malfoy legacy, I needed to use every resource at Malfoy Manor.  I’d never truly understood how much work it was to maintain such a vast property, let alone prepare the fields surrounding the manor so I might actually have grain for the animals and food for myself._

 

_One evening when I took a modest hilltop hike to enjoy the sunset and survey the land, I noticed a bit of movement in the distance.  My curiosity got the better of me and I Apparated to the little hobby farm several kilometers from the manor.  I knew the Ministry had allowed witches and wizards to claim Muggle properties with a bit of paperwork and I figured it would be smart to know who my neighbor might be._

 

_I’d almost Disapparated away when I realized my new neighbor was none other than Hermione Granger, the witch I’d been unkind to our whole time in school.  Though it had been a few years since the war ended, I could only imagine how she might react to me.  Hadn’t she known Malfoy Manor was just a skip and a hop from her new home?_

 

_But she’d surprised me._

 

_“Hello, Draco,” she’d said with a cautious smile._

 

_“Eh, hello, Granger.  Are you claiming this farm?”_

 

_She nodded.  “I am.”_

 

_She rolled her shoulders and I noticed how long her hair was, reaching to her small waist._

 

_“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?  I’ve been moving books and furniture around all day and I’m famished.”_

 

_I nodded.  “Yeah…I could go for a cup.”_

 

_That evening, after a quick cup of tea and cheese and tomato sandwiches, I ended up helping Hermione fix the pump on her well.  At close to midnight, covered in dirt, I finally figured out what was causing the pump to stall._

 

_“You’re brilliant!” she’d exclaimed and threw her arms around me.  I froze for a moment before chuckling and returning her embrace.  Through the smell of the fresh water and dirt, I noticed Hermione’s warm, inviting scent._

 

_“You would have figured it out,” I insisted._

 

* * *

 

 

I knocked on Hermione’s cottage door.  

 

“Come in,” she called.  She fluffed scrambled eggs in a pan.  

 

“Granger,” I said and placed a basket of apples on her table.  

 

“Oh, thanks, Draco!  Did the pruning you did last spring seem to help the trees produce more?”

 

I smiled as she served me a plate of fried potatoes and eggs and took a seat next to me.

 

“Certainly seems so.  There will be more apples than I know what to do with.”

 

The small smile she gave reminded me that no food went uneaten.  

 

“We’ll figure out something,” she assured me, taking a bite of her food.  “Tell me about the book you just finished.”

 

So, we enjoyed a few moments of discussion and camaraderie before Hermione used her wand to send our dishes to the sink, the plates and utensils scrubbed clean by magic.  

 

* * *

 

 

There was enough “stuff” on earth so wizards could find what they needed and repurpose it to suit their needs.  The previous summer, we had helped each other build greenhouses on our properties.  The food produced in the structures made the long winters bearable.  I’d never enjoyed green salads so much in my life.  

 

We Apparated to a forest after breakfast.  Hermione held a basket in one hand, but kept her eyes on the ground.

 

“You really think we’ll find truffles here?” I asked skeptically.  

 

“I came with Luna last year and we were able to find a few.”

 

We meandered through the forest, until we found a cache of truffles near the root system of an ancient tree.  Hermione got on her knees to better access the fungi.  I soon followed her, using my hands to pull the mushrooms from the black forest dirt.  

 

“This is amazing,” I murmured, turning to Hermione and smiling.  “My mother would have enjoyed the truffles during Christmas dinner.”

 

I’d never appreciated the splendor of the food I’d enjoyed in my youth.  Hermione squeezed my hand.  Though we had both lost our parents, I didn’t have the sense of family Hermione got from the Weasleys.  

 

“Will you spend the holidays with the Weasleys?” I asked, changing the subject.

 

“I don’t think so.  Molly has been helping Ron and Susan set up their homestead.  Harry and Ginny are nesting before little James arrives.”

 

Pansy and Theo were the only friends I kept in touch with, and they were just as busy as I was.  Pansy had just had their second son and Theo and Pansy’s father spent their days tending to their property.  I was envious of them.  Thank Merlin for Granger’s help and companionship the past three years. 

 

* * *

 

 

That evening, Hermione sat beside me on her sofa, the fire crackling quietly as I read to her from a book on animal husbandry.  

 

I could tell she wasn’t concentrating, as the rain was gently pattering on her roof and the warmth of the fire was beautifully distracting.  I removed one of my hands from the book so I could lightly rub the back of her neck.  She closed her eyes, enjoying the simple luxury of the fire and my attention.  The book was placed on a side table and I continued gently caressing her back, loving the way her muscles relaxed under my touch.  She leaned in, kissing me slowly.  Her tongue met mine, stroking provocatively.  Hermione loves to kiss, which I discovered a few weeks after we met.  Those first few months of our physical relationship, we’d kiss for hours until I would tear myself away to get home for an overdue wank.      

 

“Come upstairs,” she murmured, her warm brown eyes luminous in the fire light.  

 

She led me by the hand to her bedroom in the darkened house, stopping to unhook my belt or unbutton my shirt.  When we reached the bedroom, she helped me remove my clothes, leaving me naked in the cool room.  I couldn’t have cared less, as I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take off her jumper and denims.  She wasn’t shy about her body, letting me explore her with my eyes and hands.  Neither of us were particularly verbose during sex, though we both wanted to know what the other enjoyed.      

 

“Turn around,” I said once she’d slipped off her bra and knickers and placed them on her bedroom chair.  She turned and walked to me, standing between my legs, placing her hands on my pecs.  I groaned as she lightly traced my nipple.  My cock grazed her thigh, leaving a trail of wetness on her skin.  I could see her smiling at me in the dark room and I scooted myself onto her mattress.  She followed, straddling my thighs once I had laid down. 

 

“Like this?” she asked, taking my cock and delicately rubbing it against her clit.  

 

“Merlin, yes,” I groaned, loving the feel of her slick quim against my head.  

 

Finally, she lowered herself onto me, taking a moment to adjust to my size.  She sighed when I began to pinch at her hard nipples and rolled her hips.  I closed me eyes and enjoyed the sensation of her riding me, conscious of her pleasure coming before I got to my own.  We’d been lovers for almost three years and I still felt joy every time she climaxed from our lovemaking.  

 

My hand slid down her body to her center, finding her clit and circling it with my thumb.  

 

“Gods, Draco, keep doing that,” she moaned.  I felt her moisture coating me as I continued, loving the way she began to breathe heavily.  Her lips were slightly opened and she had her eyes closed as she thrust her body against mine.  

 

I pinched her tight little bundle of nerves and her body jerked as she moaned.  

 

“Please come,” she pleaded, trying to keep her hips rolling through her orgasm.  Knowing she was taken care of, I let myself go, pistoning my cock into her throbbing body until I was spent.  She nestled her body against mine as we breathed in tandem.  I wrapped my arms about her and kissed her.  We moved under her covers and she spooned against me.        

 

“Have you thought about my marriage proposal?”

 

She shook her head and didn’t say anything in response.  I waited for her breathing to even out before I took my leave, a feeling of disappointment coloring what had otherwise been a lovely evening.    

 

* * *

 

 

The Ministry had done a thorough job of collecting Muggle tins of food and every month each magical person was offered a sack of food.  Hermione and I Apparated to the warehouse the Ministry used for passing out the food and she was pleased to see friends she’d not been in contact with in quite some time.  

 

“Hermione!” Parvati called.  She was followed by two shockingly obedient toddlers, her twin boys.  Parvati offered me a smile before returning her attention to Hermione.    

 

“It’s been too long,” Hermione smiled, kissing her former housemate’s cheek.  “Can I offer Raj and Desi something?”

 

Parvati nodded and Hermione pulled two lollipops out of her bag.  The boys squealed with glee, quickly taking the candy from Hermione’s outstretched hands.  She was so generous with her friends.  It was one of the qualities I loved about her.  

 

“You should come by our house next week.  Seamus is going fishing over the weekend and there will be extra.”

 

“Are you sure?” Hermione whispered.  Meat had been the hardest to secure for most wizarding communities.  

 

“Yes, of course,” Parvati said with a bright smile.  “You can bring something if it makes you feel better.”

 

Hermione nodded and smiled at her friend.  It was times like these I felt that society would eventually rebuild itself, when people shared with each other instead of fighting for scraps.  She kissed each little boy’s head and wished her friend well before we headed over to the Weasleys so Hermione could make a small “repayment” to Molly and Arthur.

 

* * *

 

 

“Molly, we’re here,” Hermione called as she found the Weasley matriarch pulling a loaf of bread from the oven.

 

“Hello, dearies,” she said with a maternal smile once she’d settled the bread on the counter.  “Sit and have a cuppa with me.”

 

Molly pinched mint and chamomile into three cups before adding steaming water.  Though the Weasleys were better equipped for this lifestyle than most, they still struggled to make ends meet.  

 

Hermione pulled a small bag of sugar from her bag and put it on the table, along with a jar of honey from her extendable bag.  

 

“The honey is from the hive Draco and I developed two years ago.  We’re finally getting enough honey to share.”

 

“Oh, dove, you’re too generous!”

 

We drank our tea, Molly telling us about her family and asking about our properties. 

 

“Mrs. Weasley, would you mind if I checked out your garden?” I asked, knowing the ladies would enjoy a few minutes to themselves.  

 

“Of course, Draco!  Take your time, dear,” she said, smiling in her knowing way.

 

I was not two steps out the door when I overheard their conversation.  I knew I might not like what I heard, but my curiosity got the better of me.

 

“Have you thought about his proposal?”

 

“I’ve given up so much.  I mean, we all have, but I can’t give up love, too.”

 

My heart sank hearing Hermione’s words.  

 

“Well, I’d never presume to tell you what to do, but I do think he loves you in his own way.  He’d be a good husband.  The Malfoys had plenty of faults, but lack of love wasn’t one of them.”

 

Hermione sounded so torn.  “I think I might just be convenient, being the person he sees the most.”

 

“Most men show their love through their actions.  Think about what he does for you that has enriched your life.  I bet there are more instances than you can count.”

 

She took a sip of the fragrant tea before replying.  “I’ll think about what you’ve said, Molly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Each time I brought up my clumsy proposal of marriage to Hermione, she would shush me and run off, or ignore my question.  It had been several days since I’d seen her after bringing it up on that rainy night.    

 

_“I’d like you to consider marrying me,” I’d said after we’d spent the day tilling my garden.  “We can help each other and we get along well.”_

 

_Hermione wiped her brow and looked at me.  “Is that enough reason to marry?”_

 

_“We can do more if we pool our resources.”_

 

_I’d quickly seen the disappointment in her eyes before she picked up her things from the ground._

 

_“If you’re worried about help, I will assist you without a promise of marriage, Malfoy.  I’ll be by tomorrow, but I have work to do at my farm.”_

 

_“Of course,” I murmured, perplexed by her reaction to my offer.  What had I said that had so offended her?_

 

I often reflected on that day, trying to reconcile my growing feelings for her and what I was positive were her feelings for me.  After overhearing her conversation with Mrs. Weasley, I felt unsure of my place in her life.  

 

      

* * *

 

 

After a long day of preparing her barn for the cold of winter, Hermione walked into her kitchen to find me pouring tea into two large mugs.  She sighed tiredly and sat at the kitchen table.

 

“Did you finish your winterization?” I asked, putting a steaming mug of tea before her.

 

“Yes, thank Merlin.  I’m bloody exhausted.”  She took a sip of her hot tea, relishing the feel of the drink after her day in the cold.  

 

“I did the same thing at the Manor.”

 

Hermione nodded.  “That’s good.  I don’t know how you’ve done it the past few years.”

 

“I didn’t do it alone.”

 

“None of us do, I suppose.”

 

I wanted to argue that Hermione had done it practically alone, but knew she would protest.  

 

“Would you like to join me for Yule this year?  I’ve got an invitation to join Theo and Pansy’s family.”

 

Hermione looked at me in surprise for a moment.  “Why?”

 

“Uh…well, I suppose they know how much time we spend together and that we’ve become friends.”

 

I saw a quick flash of hurt before she straightened her back and stood, taking our half-full cups of tea to the sink.  I wanted to kick myself.  I inadvertently made her think she was mere convenience yet again.

 

“It’s just another day, Malfoy,” she murmured.  

 

But, she didn’t make it easy for me, shutting me out when she didn’t want to discuss something.  Maybe _I_ was the convenient person for her.  Perhaps she pined for someone else and I was merely the wizard who filled time until someone more suitable came along.  My insecurity manifested in my response to her, which later would keep me up at night, wondering how I might have handled the situation better.  

 

“I’ll let them know you decline,” I bit out, feeling irritated by my offers consistently being thwarted.  I slammed the door as I left the house, sick of trying and trying and getting nowhere with her.

 

* * *

 

 

Part of me still wondered what Hermione’s friends said about her connection to me.  I didn’t like to ask her these questions, worried that she’d tell me the unbearable truth, which was that I didn’t deserve her.  Mrs. Weasley’s acute observations about my family and my efforts with Hermione certainly helped my battered ego, but I had a suspicion Mrs. Weasley felt motherly sympathy for me.  Parvati and Seamus were two of Hermione’s oldest friends and were sure to call it as they saw it, in true Gryffindor fashion.  

 

 

_Hermione had canned several jars of apple butter to give to her friends for the holidays.  She put two jars into her bag and a dozen eggs and Apparated to Parvati and Seamus’ home._

 

_Knocking on the door, she chuckled to herself as she heard the toddlers screech in delight at the idea of a newcomer.  The two boys hid behind their mum as she opened the door._

 

_“Come in,” Parvati offered, kissing Hermione’s cheek in greeting.  “Can you stay for dinner?”_

 

_“I would love to,” Hermione said, picking up the smaller of the two boys and kissing his chubby cheeks._

 

_Dinner was a raucous affair with Seamus telling Hermione and Parvati about the excitement of deep sea fishing and the boys making a mess of the table and their faces.  It was these times that Hermione found herself feeling lonely, knowing she was mostly alone in the world while other people had banded together for their well-being.  It seemed less utilitarian to have a warm, functional family than she had thought it would be._

 

_“I’m putting these lads to bed,” Seamus said, kissing the top of Parvati’s head.  Parvati nodded and smiled as Seamus walked away with a toddler on each arm._

 

_“How did you two get together?” Hermione asked.  She’d remembered Parvati giggling about boys in school, but never dating due to her family’s strict rules on relationships._

 

_“Seamus and I both volunteered at St. Mungo’s after the war helping with menial tasks.  We spent so much time together that I began to look forward to seeing him every day.  He works hard and he’s funny.”  Parvati lowered her voice. “At first, I didn’t really see myself with him, honestly.  He’s a little rough around the edges, but after a few months, I started to notice all his good qualities.”_

 

_Parvati took Hermione’s hand.  “We’ve known each other for years and you don’t usually ask me these types of questions.  Is everything okay?”_

 

_Hermione nodded slowly.  “Draco asked me to marry him and I said no.  He says we can help each other, but…I don’t know.  He doesn’t love me.”_

 

_“How do you know he doesn’t?”_

 

_Hermione looked at a painting behind Parvati, a pastoral scene of gentle rolling hills and blue skies._

 

_“He hasn’t said it, hasn’t even alluded to us being more than friends.”_

 

_Parvati nodded in commiseration.  “Are you more than friends?”_

 

_“I thought so.”_

 

_“Pureblood families like the Malfoys are’t demonstrative with their feelings.  It would be unusual for couples to even declare their love until after their nuptials.  Have you considered telling him how you feel?”_

 

_“And effectively ending our friendship if he doesn’t feel the same way?”_

 

_Parvati put her hand over her heart.  “Fortitude in omnibus.”_

 

_Hermione groaned.  “Haven’t I been brave enough for one lifetime?”_

 

_The dark haired witch shook her head.  “There are scarier things than facing enemies in battle.  Having a future where the love of your life slips away would be worst, don’t you agree?”_

 

_“Do you think Draco is the love of my life?” Hermione asked quietly._

 

_Parvati shrugged and examined Hermione.  “I think only you can answer that question.”_

 

* * *

 

 

I didn’t visit Hermione for several days, hurt that she still didn’t find me worthy after all the time we’d spent together.  I’d wanted a reason for her to spend her days with me and build a life together that was more than the existence I’d eked.  If I could just understand why she seemed so hurt every time I brought up the proposal, maybe I could reason with her and make her see that marrying me was the best choice.

 

After the holidays came and went, I began to worry when I hadn’t seen Hermione for close to three weeks.  I’d contemplated visiting her and taking her the gift I’d made her, a special mead created with the honey from our hive.  Maybe she was done with me and I’d somehow lost any opportunity I’d had with her.

 

* * *

 

 

_An ice storm hit Wilshire, blanketing the world in a thick sheet of slick ice.  Hermione went to the barn to check on her cow, sheep, and chickens and used a warming charm to keep the area bearable for the animals.  She made her way back to the house and slipped, falling with all her weight on her right ankle._

 

_“Bloody ice!” she cried, her ankle sending sharp pain up and down her leg.  “Fuck!”_

 

_Several minutes passed before she was able to calm down enough to Apparate herself to her couch.  She gingerly took off her boot and found the area had swelled and was quickly turning purple.  Tears leaked from her eyes and she tried to think about what she should do._

 

_She healed herself with the help of an old healing manual she’d picked up at Flourish and Blotts years before the war.  Her healing wasn’t as precise as it would be at St. Mungo’s, but she didn’t want to spend hours upon hours waiting for some inexperienced healer to do a nominally better job than what she could do at home.  The manual suggested she keep off her leg for a few days if possible.  She Summoned a strong pain potion from her potions stores and fell asleep within minutes._

 

* * *

 

 

I swallowed my pride and knocked on Hermione’s door.  I hadn’t seen her in weeks and knew I had hurt her in some unknown way.  When she didn’t answer, I opened the door and found Hermione asleep at two in the afternoon, a blanket pulled up to her chin and her face looking far paler than was healthy.  I felt her forehead and didn’t think I needed to take her to St. Mungo’s, but if she was ill, it would be good if I could keep an eye on her.

 

I grabbed a few of my belongings from the Manor and returned to Hermione still asleep.  I went to her bedroom to turn down her bed so I could move her and noticed a list on her nightstand in her neat cursive.

 

 

_Signs of Love_

 

  * _takes interest in what I am saying_
  * _reads books with me so we can discuss them_
  * _knows how I take my tea_
  * _helps me when I need it_
  * _accepts my help when he needs it_
  * _makes me laugh_
  * _generous lover_
  * _shares his bounty with me_
  * _makes my life better_



 

I read it, then read it again.  Merlin, I was the dumbest fucking wizard in the world!  How could I have overlooked something so obvious?

 

I sat on Hermione’s bed reading and re-reading the list on her nightstand.  I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, absentmindedly thinking perhaps Hermione could give me a haircut soon.  In the years we had really, truly known each other, I had done everything in my meager power to show Hermione how much I cared for her.  And I knew she had done the same for me.  It pained me that I had thought my feelings for her were so obvious and yet she didn’t absolutely know how I felt about her.     

 

* * *

 

 

She woke when it was dark, in her bed with my warm body wrapped around her. 

 

“How are you?” I whispered into her hair.

 

Hermione licked her lips, realizing how thirsty she was.

 

“Okay.  I fell this morning and twisted my ankle.  Can I have some water?”

 

I helped her sit up and handed her a glass.  “I was worried when I came over and you were asleep.”

 

“You didn’t have to stay,” Hermione said, her facial expression hidden by the cover of darkness. 

 

“No?” I asked lightly.  “How will you know I love you if I don’t show you?”

 

I could feel her tremulous breathing from the hand I had on her waist.

 

“You do?”

 

“Hermione,” I said, facing her in the darkened room.  “You know I love you.  Well, I thought you knew.  How could you not know?”

 

“I didn’t know!  How could I know?  You never said how you felt about me.  I thought maybe I was a mere convenience.”

 

“Granger… stop.  I don’t love you because you’re my neighbor or because we’re both in the same situation.  I love you for all the reasons on your little list and a hundred more.  But, witch, you haven’t made your feelings for me clear either.  Do you love me?”

 

She took a deep breath, let it out, and took my hand in hers.  

 

“I love you, Draco.  I love you so much.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in years, she woke when the sun was up, to the smell of breakfast wafting up from her kitchen.  Her ankle was sore, but she was able to hobble down the stairs after her morning ablutions.  She found me attempting to make some kind of egg scramble.  

 

“Hey,” I said with a smile.  “How are you?”

 

Hermione made her way to me and wrapped her arms around my waist.  “I’m better.”

 

“Good,” I said, pressing a kiss to her head.  “Let’s eat.  I did your morning chores, by the way.”

 

“Thank you,” she said, nuzzling her head against my chest.  “I’m starving.”

 

Hermione sat at the table and let me serve her eggs and toast.  I served myself and we tucked into the food.

 

“Draco?”  

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you ask me again?”

 

I took in her rumpled appearance and tired eyes and realized I’d ask her to marry me a hundred times until she understood I wanted and needed her.  Even if my world had been all charity balls and board rooms, I would still want Hermione by my side, asking me her brilliant questions and encouraging my ideas.  

 

Gently, so as not to hurt her ankle, I pulled her into my lap.  I leaned my forehead against hers and looked into her dark eyes.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes.  She opened them to find me watching her expectantly.

 

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Yes, Draco, yes.”

 

“Thank Merlin,” I breathed out, relieved that in this harsh world, I would have someone as amazing as Hermione by my side.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s still quiet without our Muggle brethren, the faraway sounds of automobiles and the hum of electricity absent in our world.  I’ve become accustomed to the soft wind, the chirping of birds, the thrum of the rain, and the quiet voice of my wife talking to our sons.  

 

Hermione amazes me with her ingenuity and adaptability.  Our lands are amongst the most productive in England, thanks to her understanding of plants and their growth cycles.  She claims Herbology was hardly her favorite class at Hogwarts, but her advice is sought far and wide.  

 

She’s less outspoken and fiery than she was as a girl, as she thinks through an idea before she puts her thoughts into words.  She’s cautious to love, so I know her feelings for me and our children are everything to her.  And after realizing she didn’t know how long I’d loved her that icy day she’d hurt herself, I vowed to be as loving a husband I know how to be.  

 

We live at Malfoy Manor, and Hermione frequently holds classes on our property to show others how to live well in this different, harsher world.  We often have extra food, thanks to the brilliant systems she’s instigated on our property, and we gift it to those witches and wizards who have struggled to learn the new ways of our world.  I was never taught the joy of giving, but I’ve seen people regard me with kindness and gratitude and I would never trade that for the power and fear I was taught were necessary to be a Malfoy.  

 

Our boys, Cygnus and Orion, were born two and four years after we married.  They’ve been raised to be thoughtful, creative, and kind.  They’re so different than I was as a boy and I attribute this to my wife, although she says I have taught them as much as she has.  I know I am a good father and I work hard to make sure my family knows I love them.  

 

This year, Cygnus, our oldest son, will go to Hogwarts and learn to hone his powerful magic.  Hermione has not only taught him Muggle lessons, but magical as well, and he’s well prepared to learn more formally.  Orion is shyer than his brother and seems to favor following me around our property to sitting lessons with his mother.  We can spend hours tending to our animals or working in the greenhouse.  I teach him as much as I can during our time together, so I know he, too, is getting an education, though it differs from what his brother has learned.

 

Every night before I fall asleep, I give thanks to Merlin for the blessings bestowed upon me.  After my part in the war, I know I have so much to atone for, but with Hermione by my side, I know at least now, I am making our world a better place.   

 

   

 


End file.
